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uL

42^-

e

TliL' beg-giug LeLl.(?r.

FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER;

OR,

THE KICH AND THE POOR.

KY

CHARLES ROWCROFT, Esq.

AUTHOR OF " TALES OF THK COLONIES ; OR, THE ADVENTl'RF.S OF AN

IAN wit:

EMIGRANT." " THE MAN WITHOUT A PROFESSION,"

* •-•'

K'

LONDON:

SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.

1846.

AZO.

LOVOOV:
Printed by Stewart and Mubrat, Old Bailej.

LIST OF PLATES.

-N^»^-* ^>^.%^^*w'^^*^r^r»*

The Bbggino Letter Frantispiecet

The White Woman's Pit to face page 39

Lord Saruk seized by the Labourers .... ^, 54

The Reyelation ,, 08

Lady Saruk's Message to Fanny „ 120

The Discovery ,, 151

Conscience „ 175

The Recognition ^ 225

Hunt of the Exquisite ,, 261

The Wrongs of Labour ,, 283

FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

OR

THE RICH AND THE POOR.

CHAPTER I.

THE BICH MAN*8 TABLE^AFTBR-DIKKKR TALK — ARISTOCRATIC N0TI0H8 OT
MARBIA6E — AN EMBABRA88MENT — THE BEGOmO LETTER — A TEW
W0BD8 ON CHARITY — A REVELATION.

In a princely mansion in one of the most aristocratic parts of
London, about twenty years ago, two noblemen negligently re-
clined in easy chairs.

It was at that hour when a man is apt to be in good humour
with all the world, and to wonder that any one can be dissatisfied
with the lot of man's estate in this sublunary sphere. In short,
it was after dinner ; and the two distinguished individuals were
pleasantly engaged in discussing their wine.

It has been observed by a great writer, that the characteristic
distinctions of the two parties which divide the political world arc
those, on the one side, who have everything to gain, and those,
on the other, who have everything to lose. Of the truth of this
political axiom, the daily process of dining forms a homely but
forcible illustration: a hungry man is a radical before dinner;
after dinner, a conservative.

Whether any of these curious ruminations were mentally
indulged in by the aristocratic parties in question it is impossible
to say ; but it is certain that the elder of the two felt himself, on
this occasbn, exceedingly comfortable. Outside, the weather
was cold and wretched ; and none but the most miserable objects
— those who, without a home, were speculating on the means of
finding shelter for the night — were visible in the deserted streets.
The wintry wind blew keen and cutting; and the rushing of

B

2 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER!

mingled sleet and snow, pattering against the windows, made
itself heard even through the thick folds of the rich damask
curtains, which, hanging down in graceful drapery at the further
end of the room, satisfied the sense of sight, as well as the sense
of feeling, that the inmates were effectually shielded from the
slightest draught of the cold air.

Inside, the aspect of the dining-room was particularly cheerful.
A lively fire blazed in the ample grate ; wax candles, in splendid
candelabras, shed a soft and luxurious light ; priceless pictures,
in massive gilt frames, covered the gorgeous walls; and the
choicest wines — helped, not spoiled, by a magnificent dessert —
sparkled in glittering crystal on the highly-poUshed table.

The master of the mansion felt himself particularly comfort-
able ; and his placid feelings of after-dinner satisfaction were
enhanced by the pleasurable comparison between the miserable
state of things outside and the comfortable state within.

The portly nobleman who was then enjoying himself felt that
the world was a very good world ; his digestion was good ; the
wine was good ; and his spirits were good. His good humour
was still further increased by the presence of his only son, the
Viscount Sarum, who had recently returned from Vienna, after
a lengthened residence abroad, and on whom the hopes and
pride of the peer were centred, as the means of continuing his
race and titles to succeeding generations.

** Augustus," said his lordship, filling his glass, and pushing
the bottle to his son, inviting him by a kindly gesture to imitate
his example, " we will drink to your success."

His son replaced his uplifted glass, and hesitated.

" I am aware," continued the peer, " that five-and-twenty is
an age too young for a man of rank to fix himself — his future
destiny, in a great measure — by a matrimonial alliance ; but your
case is an exception."

The young nobleman looked uneasy.

" And this is a match, my dear Augustus," added the father,
with a look of great kindness towards his son, " that I have set
my heart on — ^yes, I have set my heart on it; it is in every way
so desirable. Lady Eleanor is only nineteen ; she is a beautiful
girl — that every one acknowledges ; and she has a distinguished
air suitable to her position."

**She was a very beautiful girl, certainly, when 1 last saw
her," said his son.

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOB. 3

"Yes, decidedly, a very beautiful girl," said his father, very
much pleased ; " but the lovely little girl is now grown into a
more beautiful woman."

" She promised to be a very fine woman," observed Augustus,
negligently.

" Promised, my dear boy I" said his father, a little annoyed at
the coldness of his son's manner, but with an expression of
pleased self-satis&ction at the bon mot which was rising for utter-
ance to his lips ; " and she has kept her promise, ha, ha I as you
will keep mine, I don't doubt ; for to tell you the truth, I have
committed myself a little, I am afraid, and you too ; but I don't
fear the result We shall have a pleasant party in the north with
Lord St. Austin and the family, and that, perhaps, will be the
best time for you to settle it with Lady Eleanor."

The young nobleman was labouring under visible embarrass-
ment, which could not escape the observation of his parent ; the
more so, as his son had, in the most extraordinary manner,
neglected to laugh at the excellent bon mot which his noble
fether had been pleased to make ; a neglect unusual and horrid,
and which filled the worthy peer with an indefinable feeling of
disappointment and apprehension.

" I hope," said his son, after a pause, speaking slowly and
reluctantly, '* that you have not said anything to commit me
to this un*un-unexpected proposal, — that is, proposition of
marriage ? I "

" Unexpected I" interrupted his father, with some appearance
of surprise and displeasure ; but quickly checking it, and re-
suming his quiet manner of bland composure — " unexpected I
Augustus, you can hardly say that. Were not you and Eleanor
playfellows together, acid did you not always call her your little
wife ? And is she not an only daughter, as you are an only son ?
— ^and the principal part of her family estates is unentailed —
everything desirable. Her father, too, is one of my oldest
friends, and we have agreed on the matter ourselves ; only wait-
ing for you publicly to declare yourself in the proper form.
Everything smooth and straight. Why, it is a sort of natural
alliance between the two &milies, which it becomes a duty to
carry into efiect Besides, the marriage joins the two estates !
Come, Augustus, say the word, and the thing is done. Mar-
riage, after all, is not so bad. I've known many — no, not many
— but 1 may say some — that is, more than one marriage, in

b2

4 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

which the parties have passed their lives together very happily.
It's all use and habit ; a man may become used to anything.
And when he is once married, why he becomes resigned, and
submits to it as a duty incidental to his position and rank in
society. I was married young myself." (Here the worthy peer
sighed, and assumed a sentimental look.)

His son could not help smiling.

" Just so ; that's the way to take it — cheerfully, and with a
good grace. And, besides, there's something respectable in
being a married man. It is surprising with what authority it
invests a man on certain occasions. There's old Lord Multiple ;
it's wonderful what an eflFect he produces on the House, when he
appeals to them as the father of a family. And he looks so
virtuous, and assumes such an air of merit, that it quite imposes
on people; — nothing more effectual at a public meeting. It
shews that though he is a lord— one of the order which the
people are crying out so much against — that he has done some-
thing. Come, my boy, let us say that it is settled ; and I will
see Lady Eleanor's father to-morrow, if you don't like to speak
first. Upon my word, she is a fine creature — a very fine crea-
ture I Only nineteen ! Good temper — (that's a great point) —
family property must all come to her — and the estates join I"

" Really," replied his son, in a tone unaccountably cold and
hesitating, to this glowing enumeration of the lady's qualifica-
tions, " I am surprised that Lady Eleanor, with her beauty and
accomplishments, and especially with her money, has not got
married already. She must have many admirers."

" Plenty, my dear boy, plenty — shoals ! All the men are mad
for her — or her money — ^which is the same thing. But she has
waited for you, my boy — waited for you. Such an instance of
devoted constancy was never before known in woman. I
remember when the story came over of your saving that poor
woman's life at Naples; how you jumped into the sea, and
brought her out safe. It was thought very spirited — very. We
all felt quite proud of you in London ; only we thought that you
might catch cold. It was just what I should have done myself,
if I could swim. Why you would have been made quite a lion
of, if you had been in town that season I And the poor little girl
praised you more than you can imagine. It is nearly three
years ago now, and she was but a young little thing; but she
has not forgotten it, I can tell you. What became of the poor
woman afterwards ? Was she old or young?"

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR.

His son made no other reply to this seemingly insignificant
question, than by a hasty movement, as if something had touched
him to the quick. Filling his glass with a motion which caused
the wine to overflow upon the table, he swallowed the bumper
at a draught

"Excuse me," observed the dignified nobleman, in a polite
tone of gentle expostulation; "but if you drink your wine that
way, Augustus, it is impossible for you to taste it I must say
I don't admire that continental fashion, if it is one. This very
wine which you are drinking, was laid down before you were
bom, by your excellent grandfather, to whom we are all so
much indebted for his improvements and additions to the family
estate. I assure you I never drink it without a certain res[)ect
in honour of your grandfather's memory, and of the proi>erty in
the north, which he secured to us. I thought you would like
a glass of real good English port, as a change after your foreign
wines. I assure you it is only on particular occasions that
Martin allows me a bottle of it ; for it is getting very low in the
bin, he tells me."

" I beg the old butler a great many pardons," said his son,
refilling his glass to the brim, and proceeding to dispose of it
with more epicurean deliberation ; " and I drink this to the
memory of my excellent grandfather, and with especial defer-
ence to his taste in all matters culinary and gustatory. And to
evince my sympathy with his predilections, I will fill my glass
again, and drink to the health of — of "

" Of Lady Eleanor 1" said his father.

His son set down his glass, with an abruptness which scattered
the fi'agrant contents over the adjacent dishes of dessert

"The deuce take the wine!" he said, stammering, and in
confusion ; "I wish there was some brandy."

His noble parent sat aghast I That his elegant and exclusive
son — he, who had been the pride and the envy of the fashion-
able world — should so far forget himself, as, in the same breath,
to scatter abroad his venerable grandfather's most cherished
wine; manifest an indifference, so unaccountable, for Lady
Eleanor ; and express a wish, so vulgar, and at such a moment,
for brandy I was utterly beyond his lordship's comprehension.
Notwithstanding his pleasure at seeing him, after his long
absence from England, he was about to express to his son, in the
politest possible manner, his surprise and displeasure at such ad

6 FANNY; THE LITTLE MILLINER:

unseemly forgetfulness of polite habits in general, and of the
respect due to himself in particular, when the entrance of a
servant with a letter turned the expression of his aristocratic
wrath in another direction.

The servant, in a splendid livery, noiselessly approached.
Seeing, at a glance, that his noble master's mind was troubled,
his looks assumed an increased expression of humility and
deference, as he stood with the letter so opportune for the diver-
sion of the son's embarrassment, on a silver salver.

" A letter, my lord."

** I see. How did it come ? — not by the post ; there is no
post at this hour. What's o'clock ?"

" Half-past ten, my lord."

** Who does it come from ?"

The servant was silent, and looked at the letter, thinking,
perhaps, that the shortest way of ascertaining that fact, was to
open it

" It came by hand, my lord."

The earl examined it — at a safe distance — curiously, through
his glasses.

The epistle certainly had a most unaristocratic air. It was
evident, from a brief glance at its surface, that it was written on
common paper, not of the most cleanly hue ; its shape was by
no means of the prescribed elegant proportions; and it was
crumpled up, as if it had been grasped unceremoniously by an
inattentive hand. The superscription, too, was blotted and
illegible. Altogether, it was a very suspicious letter.

" Who does this come from ?" said the earl, tartly, casting a
glance at the man which caused him to shift back his leg one
step, still holding the salver, with outstretched arm, in the same
position.

"I believe, my lord, a poor woman brought it."

** A poor woman !" llie earl tilted the letter over with the
end of his glasses, (carefully wiping them immediately after,) and
turned the unsightly paper over on its back.

A huge red wafer — its presence glaringly disclosed by the
imperfect envelopment of the narrow edge of a rumpled fold,
and manifestly wet, as if recently submitted to the moisture of
the mouth — met his indignant gaze. His eye fell fiiU and angrily
ion the abashed menial —

OB5 THB BICH AND THE POOB. 7

" Why," said his lordship, pointing with his glasses to the con-
traband article, ^' this must be a petition !"

The calves of the servant's legs were visibly agitated, and his
trembling hand caused the condemned epistle to perform sundry
evolutions on the polished salver.

" This," repeated his lordship, raising his voice into a still
more angry tone, ** this must be a petition ! How is it that, after
the positive orders which I have given not to admit such things,
that I am troubled with this intrusion ? and at such a time, too I
This disrespect is monstrous l**

The servant looked at the letter fiercely, and at his master
deprecatingly, but said nothing*

By a motion of his hand, the peer intimated to the attendant
that he might leave the room*

Placing the salver on which was deposited the unfortunate
letter, delicately, on a small round table at hb master's elbow,
the man, with a submissive air, retired.

His lordship, shrinkingly handling the suspicious epistle,
through the medium of a napkin, subjected it to the light of the
lustre on the chimney-piece, with its outer side towards his son.
Reading aloud the words at the commencement — * I earnestly
entreat,' — he threw it down pettishly.

"It is most extraordinary," he exclaimed, glad to find an
object on which his anger could find a legitimate vent, " it is
most extraordinary how we are beset with these eternal begging
letters I Really, the common people seem to think we are
literally made of money, and that we have nothing to do but to
put our hands in our pockets and shower it down on whoever
asks for it. These begging letters have grown quite into a system ;
and the tax on one's time, and one's feelings, and one's money,
is become a grievance that is intolerable. Something must be
done in parliament to remedy this horrible nuisance, or we shall
not be able to live in our own houses, or even sit at dinner in
quiet."

" It is, indeed, very annoying," replied his son, with ready
assent, and glad to turn his father's thoughts into a difierent
channel firom the awkward subject which had recently embar-
rassed him ; " but what are the poor people to do ? — it is natural,
in their distress, that they should look for relief to those who
have the power to assist them."

8 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

" Augustus !" said his lordship, with much gravity, and uncon-
sciously assuming the tone and attitude with which he was wont
to enlighten the House of Lords on appropriate occasions—" this
is a subject to which I have paid particular attention ; I may say,
very particular attention. It is a subject which I have investi-
gated thoroughly ; and I may be permitted to hope that the few
observations in which I shall take the opportunity to indulge
may not be unworthy of your lordships' — I mean, Augustus, may
be useful to you ; for, of course, it cannot be expected, at your
time of life, that you have had the leisure to pay it the necessary
attention.'

Augustus was delighted to see his father mount his hobby-
horse in this style, and he threw into his look all the respectful
deference which the occasion demanded, and remained in an at-
titude of fixed attention.

"I am aware, sir," he said, " that you have devoted much time
and labour to the consideration of the condition of the poor, and
that there is no member of either house who could pretend to
compete with you in your information on that important sub-
ject"

" That is too much to say, Augustus," returned the peer, not
displeased, however, to receive this tribute to hi^ social and sena-
torial wisdom — " that is too much to say ; though I may be per-
mitted to hazard the opinion, that no one in the House is listened
to with more attention than myself on these subjects; and, in-
deed, I may take it on myself to aver that my arguments have
made so deep an impression, and have so entirely convinced — or
at least silenced my opponents — that their lordships usually pay
me the compliment to intimate that it is unnecessary for me to
reiterate my statements, inasmuch as they have heard sufficient
from me already, to spare me the trouble of addressing them at
any length for the future ; a feeling on the part of the House
which cannot fail, Augustus, to be particularly gratifying to your
father's feelings."

Augustus did not know exactly what reply to make to this
complacent self-satisfaction of his worthy parent; and his
countenance assumed a dubious expression.

" I fear," said the peer, " that you don't quite go with me on
this point ; but you are young, and have not yet got rid of your
romance, and generosity, and all that ; but it is nothing but your
inexperience that misleads you. I view this question as a great

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 9

Statistical question. It is a question of figures and calculation^
not a question of feeling; it is precisely one in which your
feelings would lead you wrong. Now, I divest myself of all
feeling, and regard the subject as one of statistical calculation,
and of certain mathematical deductions."

" If I might be permitted to express my own opinion," said hb
son, slightly mpved, " I should view it as a question of humanity.
One cannot subject the passions and the feelings — and more — the
weakness and the errors of mankind, to arithmetical calculations.
You cannot deal with breathing, living, moving men, as you can
with figures. The human heart does not act from mathematical
demonstrations, but from impulse."

" My dear Augustus," rejoined the peer, turning round his
chair so as better to face his son, and clearing a space on the
table so as to have more room for the exercise for his oratory,
"you are wrong, quite wrong. Impulse ! That impulse, as you
caJl it, always leads to mischief. The impulse of the poor is to have
my estates and my property, and to be on the same footing with
us, who are their superiors ; this is the very thing that we must
keep down. The lot of the great bulk of mankind," continued
his lordship, with much pomposity, " is to earn their bread by the
sweat of their brow ; and anything that tends to put the convic-
tion of that necessity out of their heads, is mischievous. There
are two great distinctions in society — the Rich and the Poor;
nature has so ordained it; it has always been so, and must
always be so. It is the part, therefore, of a wise statesman, to
repress with a firm hand all attempts on the part of the labouring
classes to be other than what they are ; to keep them in their
place, and not to encourage in them false notions about their
* rights' as they term them, and the * natural equality of man,'
and all that nonsense. Don't talk to mq about impulse I Teach
the poor to act on system ; make them industrious ; make them
acquire provident habits ; and let them receive religious instruc-
tion to render them obedient to the laws, respectful to their
superiors, and content with their condition."

*' I quite agree," said his son, " that we ought to provide for
the poor the means of education, so as to elevate them above
the condition of the brutes of the field, which merely eat and
sleep."

" Education ! Education I" exclaimed the peer, contemptu-
ously ; " yes, if it is the right education — the education which

10 FANKT^ THE LITTLE MILLINEB :

makes them content with their condition, and submissive to their

superiors in station ; but not the education which teaches them

to read the newspapers, and get crammed with all the abominable

notions with which the lower classes are stirred up— the * rights

OF THE POOR,' and the 'rights of labour/ and all that stuiBTI

The rights of the poor 1 What do they mean by the rights of

the poor? KI employ you, very well ; what right have you to

compel me to employ you, or to make me support you, if I don't

The thing is absurd I"

" That argument," observed the young nobleman, " may seem

philosophic, but it seems to me that the heart and the feelings

reject it. When labour fails to support the labouring man, charity

must step in to his aid."

'^ Pooh I All these sentimental words about the human heart,
and the feelings, and all that, only mislead and distract the at-
tention from the essential point — the great statistical question of
the management of the poor. There is nothing more pernicious
to the poor themselves than the relief of their wants by public
and private charitable institutions, and, indeed, by all private
charity in general It only makes them improvident, and
habituates them to depend more on casual bounties than on
their own exertions. For this reason, the poor laws have proved
the most destructive evil for the poor themselves. See what
they have brought the country to ; the poor are actually eating
us out of our estates 1"

" Surely," observed his son, desirous of provoking his fether
to continue the discussion, so as to prevent a recurrence to the
embarrassing subject of his proposed marriage, and not unwil-
ling to give expression to his own sentiments ; " surely there is
some contradiction in admitting the distresses of the poor, and
denying the propriety of relieving them. What is a poor man
to do, if he is starving, and with a family of children, perhaps all
absolutely wanting food ?"

"Family of children I my dear Augustus — positively you
almost make me angry. You speak of a family of children as a
thing of course ; as a sort of natural accompaniment to the con-
dition of a labourer. What business has he with a family of
children ? That's his own fault"

" But still," persisted the son, ** suppose the case of a family
of children — ^what is to be done, if they are starving?"

** That is just the cry which deceives people," said the peer,

OB, THB BICH AND THE POOB. 11

impatiently. ** What is a poor man to do, if he is starving ? To
be sure ; what is he to do ? But why is he starving ? From his
own fault — ^his own improvidence. You must force him to be
provident, so as not to be in danger of starving ; and that he vnll
never be, so long as he knows that he has a legal right to demand
relief out of your property and mine. The great point is, to
give the poor self-reliance and self-dependence; not to let
them trust to a resource against their own improvidence, to
public or private charity; that is, to your savings and mine."

**But," observed his son, "you would not condemn entirely
all public and private charity ? There is high authority——"

" Yes, yes, I know what you are going to say ; but you must
interpret and apply the Scriptures according to the circumstances
of the case. Charity is charity only when properly directed.
The Scriptures do not touch the present evil, of the absorbing
confiscation of all property to the clamorous exigencies of the
poor. Of course it is the duty of the upper classes of society to
attend to the condition of the poor ; but the best mode of bene-
fiting them, is to crush the habit of relying on charity for
support, instead of on their own independent exertions; and
this you will never do, whUe you maintain the present system of
the poor laws. The workhouse must be made more distasteful
than it is, and the laws more stringent. The poor must be
coerced into better habits ; and, especially, there must be a rigid
abstaining fi*om the reckless private charity in which some, I am
sorry to say, are prone to indulge. It is a maxim with me, never
to allow myself to fall into the culpable weakness of fostering
distress, by giving it the artificial assistance of what is called
charity — that is my rule. Relief with me is the exception."

" And I confess," said his son, " that with me, relief is the
rule, and denial, the exception. Even supposing the distress to
be feigned, which I dare say it often is, I cannot help thinking
that it is better to take your chance of doing the good you
intend, than, by a too scrupulous exactness, to allow real distress
to be unrelieved. That very letter, now, which is lying on the
table, may contain a case of sufiering, which a little attention,
and some slight assistance, might efiectually relieve."

" The petition— *ah I I had forgotten it. Not that it matters ;
for I can guess its contents without reading it They all contain
the same tale. Widow— sick bed, and an astonishing quantity
of children^ all of a tender age, but nowhere to be foimd, except

12 FANNY^ THE LITTLE MILLINER:

on paper ; unless they are hired, which they generally are, for
the occasion."

So saying, he again took up the obnoxious letter, and testily
looked at it

" It is addressed, inside, to you, Augustus — * To Lord Sarum.' "
Glancing hastily and unwillingly over the contents, the much-
loathed word, DISTRESS, met his eye. With an impatient gestiwe
he cast it from him. The open paper encountering the draught
towards the chimney, was drawn to the fire, and kindling under
the grate, became rapidly consumed.

So perish, and so vainly are penned by trembling and feeble
hand, many of the bitter and heart-rending supplications for
relief of the really wretched ! And well would it have been for
the peace of the noble family, of which that peer was the head
and chief, if on that occasion he had relaxed from his usual
rigidity of system, and bestowed on the application more than a
brief glance. But the ways of Heaven are inscrutable; and
dearly was that neglect punished in after years by bitter and
unavailing sorrow.

" By the bye," said his lordship, in a tone of strong displeasure,
" I intended to speak about that letter." Ringing the bell, which
was promptly answered by the footman in waiting — " Tell the
porter to come here."

« Yes, my lord."

Now, it must be observed, that the important and responsible
individual who now filled the office of porter at the town man-
sion of the Earl of Grandborough had assumed his official duties
only a fortnight before, his predecessor having died from exces-
sive fat, and a morbid affection of the nerves caused by reading
fashionable novels. He was well aware, that in addition to his
ordinary duties of returning gracious replies to his master's
friends, according to their respective ranks and fortunes, he had
been rigidly enjoined to act as the Cerberus of the rich man's
mansion, on all occasions of the presentation of doubtful charac-
ters — such as presumptive sailors or soldiers with supposititious
wooden legs ; middle-aged women, in widows' caps, and cotton
umbrellas worn stumpy at the end ; all persons with yellow and
sickly-looking faces, (unless coming in carriages ;) and, gene-
rally, to guard against the insidious attempts of all classes and
denominations of the shabby-genteel to gain furtive admittance
within the doorway of the rich man's mansion. This task the

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOB. 13

vigilant Dennis had sedulously executed, although not always
without mistakes. On one occasion he had the mishap to deny
his master to the Lord Chancellor himself; and, on another, he
flatly refused admittance to a certain high functionary in the
House of Lords, so decidedly seedy was the appearance of those
personages. But, on the present occasion, his vigilance had
been taken by surprise, and his usual presence of mind had, for
once, deserted him. The unusual hour of the night ; the bitter
bleakness of the weather ; and the interesting appearance of the
^' poor woman" had thrown him off his guard ; and he had com-
mitted the unpardonable indiscretion of admitting, without
reference to a superior functionary, that his master was at 'home.'
But the evil was done.

" You might have been sure it was a begging letter," observed
the under-butler, who was standing by; "didn't you see the
wafer ? Whenever you see a letter with a wafer, depend upon
it there's something wrong about it No person fastens a letter
with a wafer; it's quite indecent Do you suppose that my
lord likes to have people's spittle sent to him. It's dis»
gusting."

At that moment the bell was heard to ring with a tremendous
crash.

" There's no good in that ring," said Thomas ; " my lord's in
a towering passion about something. It's all about this letter,
I'll swear. Paddy, you'll catch it — that's certain."

" The porter?" said his lordship, standing up.

" He is here, my lord, at the door."

" Why don't he come in ?"

This was a question more easily asked than answered ; and it
is impossible to say how the scene might have ended, if the
good-natured young nobleman, guessing the cause of his hesita-
tion, had not gone to the door, and smilingly encouraged the
terrified culprit to come in.

" Pray," said the earl to the unhappy porter, who, after he
had shut the door, remained squeezed up in the farthest possible
comer, his head projected towards his master, and with his hand
on the handle of the door which he had left a little open so as
to secure the means of rapid retreat, " what did you say to the
bearer of that letter? Of course you did not say that I was at
home ?"

"I couldn't help it, my lord — indeed I couldn't; it shot out

14 FAimY5 'THE LITTLE BOLLINER:

of me quite unawares. But the poor cratur looked so badly, my
lord, and the little child that she carried looked so cold and
shivery, and she was so like a real lady, that I did say, before I
could help it, that your lordship's honour was at home ; and so
she said she would come back presently for an answer."

^^ Then the person is coming again ? " said his lordship, in a
tone of increased anger ; ^* this is dreadful ! "

A trembling rat-tat of a peculiar character, betraying in its
timid sound the irresolution of the applicant, was at this moment
heard at the hall-door.

^^By the powers! there's her knock again I" exclaimed the
agitated Dennis ; " I know it by the shake ! What am I to say
to her ? Shall I say that your lordship is gone out ?"

" Say anything ; but say Fm not at home : — I'm at my house
in the country. And don't let me be troubled again in this way."

** Give her this," said the young nobleman, in a whisper, as he
followed Dennis to the door, and placed some money in his hand.

** Augustus," said his father, who had observed his movement,
and guessed the object, " you are wrong. Relieving these people
is only encouraging them. This very woman, no doubt, is one of
a set; she will tell all her companions of her success, and I
shall be besieged night and day by all sorts of persons for relief.
You are literally sowing the seeds of all sorts of immorality among
the people. Nothing fosters improvidence and vice more than
this sort of mistaken charity ; so that, in fact, you help to per-
petuate the evil which you wish to remove. By promoting idle-
ness, you promote crime. For crime," added his lordship,
sententiously, raising his hand with a little flourish to give
additional emphasis to the enunciation of his thesis — and pleased
with having hit on an epigrammatical expression which he flat-
tered himself was felicitously descriptive of his meaning — " crime
is the parent of poverty."

"Forgive mc," replied his son, "if I venture to say, that in
my opinion, poverty is the parent of crime. But on this occasion,
certainly, I feel that I have done wrong. I ought to have taken
the trouble to inquire into the case myself; personal interference
often does as much good as money. But, with your leave, I will
summon Dennis again; perhaps the poor woman gave her
address.

" Dennis," he said, on the appearance of the porter, " did the
woman tell you her address ?"

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 15

" No, indeed, your lordship ; the likes of them seldom have
any address to give, except some garret or hole may be, where
your lordship's honour could not condescend to go ; but I told
her that neither of your lordships was at home ; and to make
sure, I told her that your honours were down at your country-
sate, and she looked very disappointed. But I don't think she is
an Englishwoman at all," added Dennis, ^^ for she speaks like a
foreigner, and her eyes and her hair was as black as sloes, and
she was dressed in black, and "

" She had a child in her arms, you said ?"

^^ Indeed she had, and a young thing she looked to have a
child like that ; and she was so thin, it was a sight to see ; but
she hugged her child close to her when it cried — mothers are
mothers, all the world over — though there was little warmth in
her, poor thing, for the matter of that. And what makes me
think the more she was a foreigner, she called the child by a
foreign name."

" Really, Augustus," interposed the earl, ** of what possible
interest can all this be ? How can it matter to you what name
the woman called her child by ?"

"It was Francis something," said Dennis — "more like a man's
name."

"It was what?" eagerly exclaimed the young nobleman,
seized with an undefinable presentiment

" Francis was the beginning of the name," repeated Dennis ;
" but it had a tail to it."

" A tail I" ejaculated the peer.

" Where is the letter ?" exclaimed the young nobleman, with a
wildness that made his father start — " Burnt ? — It is ! No ; here
is a fragment remaining." Plunging his hand beiieath the grate,
he seized on a morsel of blackened paper, and there beheld, in
a handwriting which he too well knew, the word " Francesca."
Without a moment's hesitation, he rushed to the hall.

"Which way did she go, Dennis?" he said, in a voice of
repressed agitation ; " how long has she been gone ?"

" To the left, right away, my lord ; it's not more than a
quarter of an hour ago. But it snows hard. Shall I fetch your
lordship's cloak?"

Lord Augustus made no reply, but catching up the first hat
that he saw, darted down the street.

16 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER!

CHAPTER n.

THE SEARCH— POLICB INTOBMATION—- THE PUBSUIT.

In the meantime, the hapless lady — ^for such indeed she was —
disappointed, wretched, cold, and unknowing where to obtain a
lodging for herself and her child during the night, wandered on
her way through the endless streets. At last, faint and weary,
she found herself opposite a coach-ofBce. As it looked like a
place of pubUc entertainment, she entered, and sat down in the
public room. Then she recollected that she held in her hand the
money which the young viscount had sent to her in charity. She
supposed it was some trifle which the servants of the establish-
ment, in pity of her distress, had kindly given to her. The
servants of his father's house had given her money in charity I
She shuddered ; the thought was terribly humiliating. — But it
was, doubtless, kindly given. Why should she refuse from any
one the aid which she would as freely render to another ?

She took courage, opened her hand, and looked at it. To her
surprise, she found it was gold ! There were five sovereigns.
This was unexpected good fortune. It was enough, perhaps, to
carry her down to Grandborough Castle ?

She reflected earnestly. Should she remain in town, and
write ? Her letter might be intercepted. No : she would go.
Every moment of time was valuable. On a single minute might
depend her future happiness or misery ; and of her child — and
of Hiniy too, if it could be possible that the strange news which
had reached her ears was true? To be married again I It could
not be! Would the laws of England permit it? But then,
perhaps, he supposed her to be dead. It was too bewildering ;
the shortest course would be to join him — and without delay.

A waiter appeared : —
Going by the coach, ma'am ?"
What coach ? — where is it going?"

Beg pardon, ma'am; thought you might be going by the
coach to the north. Cold night, ma'am ; please to take any-
thing?"

" A coach going to the north ? — when will it go ?"

OR, THE mCH AND THE POOR. 17

**In half an hour, ma'am — always punctual; night-coach;
four horses — ^very careful coachman.''

^* What is the expense ?"

" The expense, ma'am I you mean the fare : — Three guineas
inside — child half*price.''

" And can I go ?" said the stranger, eagerly.

" To lie sure, ma'am ; that is, if there's room. Inside, ma'am,
of course?^ said the waiter, looking at the child.

" Yes ; the inside of the coach."

" Room for one, ma'am," said the waiter, returning ; " but you
can take the child on your lap."

« I will go."

" Yes, ma'am ; but you have twenty minutes yet. Any luggage,
ma'am ?"

" Luggage ?"

*^ Yes, ma'am — any boxes ?"

" Oh, no ; my boxes are at the ship."

As she said this, she took out anxiously a little casket ; gazed
on it ; and returned it to her bosom.

" Yes, ma'am," said the waiter, a little wondering, but too busy
to be actively curious. " Perhaps you will take tea, ma'am ;
plenty of time."

This offer the stranger gladly accepted.

" Poor lady looks very ill," said the waiter to the coachman,
who was waiting inside the bar.

" She'll soon be better when she finds herself inside of my
coach," replied the coachman ; " and I'll give a look to her as
we go along. Does she go all the way ?"

" Don't know ; but she has paid her fare."

" That's all right, then. She looks very white, and rather
down in the gills ; but what eyes ! There's black 'uns for
you!"

In a short time, the object of these observations found herself
in the stage-coach, proceeding at a smart pace on the north
road.

" Going all the way, ma'am ?" asked a good-humoured looking
fellow-passenger, in the usual way of opening stage-coach con-
versation.

" I am going," she replied, " to Grandborough Castle."

" To Grandborough Castle 1 That's about five miles off the
road before you come to Sandy Flats. Fine doings at Grand-

c

18 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER :

borough Castle this season. The young lord is going to be
married to Lady Eleanor St Austin — a great beauty by all
accounts. They say he is desperately in love with her.''

After this gratuitous piece of information, which, notwith-
standing the darkness of the night, caused the stranger instinc-
tively to draw her veil over her face, the communicative gentle-
man followed the example of the other two passengers, and
settled himself comfortably to sleep. The forlorn lady, a prey
to bitter thoughts, endeavoured to soothe herself with the hope
that every step brought her nearer to her place of refuge, as the
well-appointed coach sped rapidly on its way.

The young nobleman, meanwhile, searched diligently through
the streets for her whom his heart smote him was the humble
supplicant for relief at his father's house. How she should be
in London, or what powerful motive could have induced her to
come to England in a manner so strange and sudden ? — ^why
come without writing or warning, and in the absence of any
apparent motive ? — He was perplexed and bewildered. Then,
again, he thought it might not be her. It might be some one
whom she had entrusted to bring the letter. But, then, Dennis's
description of her person, — But what was that? So many
women had black hair and black eyes : — and it was so unlikely
that she should present herself in person, and be the bearer of
her own letter I On the other hand, his injunctions had been
positive and severe, on no account to let their circumstances
come to the knowledge of his father. — But why address the
letter to Lord Grandborough, and not to himself? Had she
been making a mistake, common with foreigners, in the title ?
Then he recollected that it was addressed inside, as his father
had said, to " Lord Sarum." Still that was by no means con-
clusive. — On the whole, he could not bring himself to believe
that it was really Francesca herself, who had stood as a suppliant
at his father's door I But, then, who was it ? It was necessary
to clear up that point. — And then, again, his heart misgave him
that it could be no other than that one. The form, the hair,
the eyes, the name, and the handwriting — he could not be
mistaken in that I The child, too I What could he think ?
How find her ? — He was almost mad with fear and suspense.

All his inquiries after the unknown stranger were in vain.
One policeman had observed several women with children in
their arms, and they went off in various directions ; but where,
he could not particularly say. Another informed him, directly,

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 19

that a woman, with a child in her arms, with black hair, which
hung down her back, and eyes which were particularly black,
as she had been fighting and was very drunk, had been taken
to the station-house. Other policemen acquainted him that
they had taken up a good many men, women, and children
that night, and that they were all lodged in the station-house
till the morning, when they would be taken before the magis-
trate, to be punished for being destitute. They advised him to
attend the police-courts next day, when, perhaps, he would
have the satisfaction of seeing the woman he was in search of,
before she was sent to the treadmill.

In this way the unhappy young nobleman passed the night ;
tormented by all sorts of apprehensions, in which the ludicrous
and the serious were strangely jumbled together. The next day
was passed in the same vain search. At last it struck him that
the porter had told the stranger, the more effectually to get rid
of further importunity, that his father, with himself, was at their
family seat in the north. This was a happy thought If it was
Francesca, she would most likely proceed thither. At once he
inquired at all the coach offices, if any person answering the
description which he gave had been seen. The waiter at the
Black Bull distinctly remembered that a lady, who was apparently
a foreigner, with a child, had set off by the north coach the
night before.

Lord Augustus immediately wrote a hasty note to his father,
excusing his abrupt departure, and assigning as a reason, business
of an urgent nature which called him away ; and ordering a
chaise and post horses on the spot, he proceeded at a furious
rate on the road to the north of England.

His father remained for two whole days in a state of the most
profound astonishment, not unmixed with a sense of deep per-
sonal affront That there was some mystery about that beg-
ging letter was certain. He endeavoured to learn something
more from Dennis; but Dennis knew nothing, and could say
nothing more, except that the lady — for that it was a lady he was
certain — resembled, in an extraordinary manner, the picture
over the altar-piece in the church of St Mary.

This information, however, seemed to throw no light on the
affair, and the earl, after having exhausted himself in conjec-
tures, and hearing nothing further from his son, determined to

leave town for Grandborough Castle.

c2

20 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

CHAPTER III.

THE CONDITION OP THE POOR — THE OLD MAN's RESIGNATION, AND THE YOUNG
man's indignation — THE WHITE WOMAN's PIT — A STRANGER IN SIGHT
— DANGERS OP THE MOOR — THE PEASANT^S BRAVERY.

In a rude hut on the border of a common, in a remote county in
the north of England, sat two men in the ordinary garb of
labourers. The one was aged, the other was young.

The aspect of the old man was venerable. In spite of his
patched and soiled garments, and the rough rigidity of feature
with which a long life of toil and privation had knotted his
furrowed face, there was something in his air which inspired
involuntary respect. For poor though he was, he was a Man ; —
and there is a majesty in the human face divine, an innate
nobility in the soul conscious of rectitude, and undeformed by
evil passions, which ever inspires the beholder with a sentiment
of unconscious homage to the natural dignity of man, whom God
created in his own image to walk the earth erect, and to gaze on
the heavens above.

The old man was poor, indeed — ^very poor. During his whole
life he had had to fight the up-hill fight of poverty ; and it was as
much as his unremitted labour could effect — and often more
than all his labour could perform — to enable him to obtain the
means of mere subsistence. Compelled to obtain his daily bread
by his daily toil, and almost by daily supplication, he had become
accustomed to the scorn with which wealth is apt to look down
on one of those whom it deems of the inferior clay of the earth —
as one who was bom into the world an unbidden guest at Nature's
feast — a thing superfluous and incommodious, to be used only, as
an inanimate machine, when wanted, and then to be thrown
aside ; not God's creature, but man's instrument ; a composition
of flesh and bones, out .of which was to be worked all the profit
it was capable of yielding, and then abandoned as pitilessly
as it had been used.

Such had been the course of the weary life of the inhabitant
of the hut; and such is the condition of multitudes of the
labouring poor.

The old man's lot had been hard from the beginning. From
the first to the last it had been a life of trial, and suffering, and

OR^ THE BICH AND THE POOB. 21

privation. In infancy without nurture^ in childhood without
sport, in manhood without enjoyment, in old age without
sympathy. None had assisted him, none had cheered him,
none had smiled on him. To him all had been blank. Civili-
zation — and all the improvements which wealth and science
could effect — had advanced with prodigious strides. But all the
improvements of wealth, and all the advancements of science, had
done notliing to improve the condition of the labouring poor. The
rich had become richer ; but the poor had become poorer. The
nation^ of which he was an almost unregarded unit, had become
the envy and admiration of the world, for the vastness of its
riches, the extent of its power, the magnificence of its dominion,
and the exhaustless means of its production. Nay, so great was
its power of producing all that can administer to the necessities,
the comforts, and the luxuries of mankind, that some political
economists and most profound philosophers had proclaimed the
curious discovery to the world, that the great evil which in these
modem times most perplexed society was oyer production!
that in consequence of the people producing too much they
therefore had too little! — that the paucity of consumers was
owing to excess of population! — and that the power of the
country to create unbounded wealth was the cause of the un-
bounded destitution and wretchedness of its inhabitants!

But such considerations were far from the thoughts of the
good and simple old man. He had never complained — ^never
rebelled ; he had only suffered. He had done his duty in the
way of life unto which it had pleased God to call him ; he looked
back on his life, if without satisfaction, without regret ; and he
looked forward to his grave as the poor man's resting place. His
care-worn countenance had become settled into an expression of
deep humility ; and the subdued, fixed, and quiet air of resigna-
tion, which formed the predominant characteristic of his phy-
siognomy, marked him as one of the many specimens of the
virtuous and patient suffering of the poor. But his look, though
passionless and hopeless, was gentle ; and it seemed from the
mild simplicity of his demeanour, that the early goodness of
his nature was such, that neither the physical sufferings of long-
continued privations, nor all the contumely that poverty is heir
to, had been able to change into gall the milk of human kind-
ness which Nature had originally infused into this one of her
honest sons of labour.

22 FAXiKTt, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

The countenance of his companion was of a different cast.
The struggle of fierce passions, and the fire of angry discontent,
were depicted on his youthful features. He sat with clenched
hands and fixed eyes, gazing on the remnant of a scanty fire that
lent a dull light to the cold hearth ; and ever and anon he would
knit his brows and stamp his foot, as if in impatience of some
disappointed expectation. Suddenly he said in bitter and
muttering tones—

** He will never come. Mat. Master ! fiiend 1 woman 1 — they
are all alike I Who cares for the poor man ? No ; we may die
and rot I My poor mother may lose her life for want of a little
help — a little trifle of money that the rich would never miss the
want of. And 1 1 I can do nothing but curse their selfishness —
and curse, too, on this poverty I — It grinds into one's very soul.'*

** You are too hasty, Ned," said the old man ; " it is more than
three miles over the moor ; and in fiuch weather as this, with the
snow deep on the ground, and more falling thick, one mustn't
expect a clergyman to leave the gentlefolks for poor people such

as we."

** And why not ?" rejoined his companion, angrily. " Are not
we as good as they — the gentlefolks, as you call them ? Are not
our lives worth to us as much as their lives are to them ? Has
not God made all men equal ? and is it not the tyranny of the
rich and the powerful over the poor and the weak that has
robbed us of our rights, and made us the slaves we are ?"

•* Ah, Ned, all this comes of your edication. All these fine
words wont make things any better. A rich man's a rich man,
and he can give the poor man work ; and the poor man's a poor
man, and he must ask the rich man to let him work ; and that's
just what it is ; we can't mend it."

** And why not ? I'll tell you : it is because we have not the
courage. It is the cowardice and the meanness of the poor that
make them crouch and grovel to the rich. Beg for work —
BEG for work, indeed -1 Is not the soil ours as well as theirs?
and must we beg for leave to till it ? Have not I a right to my
share of the earth which God gave to us all ?"

" You*re young, Ned — ^you're young. If you were sixty years
of age instead of under twenty, you wouldn't talk that way. It's
attending those nightly meetings that has put all this into your
head. I never knew any good come of such meetings. There's
a great talking, and the speakers use monstrous big words ; and

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 23

to hear 'em you would think they were going to set all things to
rights quite out of hand. But it all ends one way, Ned : Botany
Bay — or worse — that's what it always comes to. No, no, the
poor must submit to what they can't help— no use kicking."

^* Mat, you have no soul I You are content to live and die
a slave 1"

*^ What's the use of being discontented ? it only makes things
worse and harder to bear. It's my lot to be a poor man, and to
work for my bread. Very well ; I work, and glad to get it."

" Ah I glad to get it I Yes ; it is come to that now — glad to
get work 1 That's the condition of the poor man ! Not content
with depriving the poor of their birthright — their fair share of
the earth — the rich have now ground him down to a state worse
than the black slave. For they tell us that the blacks are flogged
to make them work, and here in England the labouring man has
to go down on his knees to his masters to allow him to work."

" You're too hard on the gentlefolks, Ned. If they have not
got work to give us, how can they help it? I dare say the
gentlefolks are quite as willing to give us work to do, as we are
to do it, when they want any work to be done. Besides, there's
the parish to go to after all. Not that any working man, with
any pride about him, would eat parish bread if he could help it
anyways. I'm sure it would choke me. I never saw a halfpenny
of the parish money, and, please God, I never will ! But still
there it is, if a poor man is driven to it by want of work and
starvation. Justice is justice, Ned; no need to make the case
worse than it is with fine words and speechifying."

" Justice ! Yes ; pretty justice it is to the poor man ! When
they do give us work, what do they give us for it ? What do they
pay us for it ? That's what I ask ? Not enough to keep body
and soul together. Not that they care for our souls nor our
bodies either. The soul or the body of the poor man is nothing
to them. We may work to heap up more wealth for those who
are rich enough already, and then we may starve, and die, and
rot. Who cares I"

"You can't say that, Ned; that isn't fair, neither. Arn't
they going to build a new church there, hard by over the moor ;
and didn't the great lord's housekeeper — I mean Lord Grand-
borough that lives at the castle — didn't she leave a bundle of
tracts for yoiu* mother lying sick last week ?'

"Tracts I what do we want with tracts ? We want food, and

24 FANMY^ TUB LITTLE MILLINER:

clothes, and fire. Tracts wont fill our bellies, and clothe our
backs ; we want food, not tracts. What's the use of a bushel of
tracts to a starving man ?*'

" I don't know that, Ned. Sometimes there's something in
'em that makes one more easy in one's mind. If you can't get
work, and must starve, better take it easy. Besides, they give
good advice to the poor man, and teach him to be content with
his lot."

*' To be sure they do ; that's just what all their preaching
comes to. Be content 1 Yes, that's their game. So long as we
can be persuaded to be content with our lot, and remain slaves
to the rich — work for nothing — be content with the miserable
pittance they give us for our work, and quietly starve while they
fatten on our labour; — ^so long as we keep * Quiet, and remain
content with our lot,' as you call it, it is all right with them.
But what good do they do to us ? What care do they take of
us ? I ask you that. They can find plenty of money to build
gaols; but where's the money to build schools? Up in the
Parliament House there, in London, they can sit night after
night, and invent all sorts of things to punish us and keep us
down ; — but what do they do to raise us up ? — and the news-
paper says, that Parliament has appointed a commission — I think
they call it — to devise new means of torture in the prisons for
poor creatures who have been driven to crime by want. Yes,
Mat — to contrive new tortures in the prisons."

" No — no ; the gentlefolks would never do that"

" It's true, indeed. Mat ; I read it in the newspaper. And
there is to be solitary confinement, and black-holes, and I don't
know what besides — as if prison wasn't punishment enough in
itself."

" Well — well, Ned, I never read a newspaper ; but I can't
believe that of the gentlefolks."

, " That's why you are so tame. Mat But as they said at the
meeting last night — * Why don't Parliament spend the same
money, and take the same pains, to make the condition of the
poor better. Why, Mat, as you know, it is want, nine times
out of ten, that drives the poor man to commit the crime that
the rich punish him for. Is that fair? But it can't last; and 1
can tell you. Mat, that the labouring men of England arc de-
termined to change it. We will not submit to be ground down
any longer."

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 25

'^ Ah, Ned, those meetings will be the ruin of you* Better
keep on quiet, and let the meetings alone. RebeUing never did
^^7 good to the poor man. In all the revolutions that I've
heeard tell of, the poor man's share was always the hanging part
of 'em. No, Ned ; no rebellion I We must submit, Ned, to our
superiors."

^' That's parson's talk ; and we all know what that's worth.
It's all nonsense I It's just to make the poor submit to the rich,
and be content with their wretchedness; — that's their game I"

'^You mustn't talk ag'in the parsons, Ned; that's ag'in
Scripture. There must be somebody to read the prayers at
church ; a poor man can't r^ad them for himself. I'm sure, when
I go to church, I'm the better for it I don't know why, exactly,
but it comforts me, and makes me feel more easy. And when
the minister preaches his sermon to the gentlefolks, it makes me
drop into a nice doze, which refreshes me, and does me good.
Of course, poor people like me, can't expect a fine gentleman
like him, to talk to us about our matters. lie is the minister for
the gentlefolks, and we ought to be glad to get a sight of him,
anyhow. But we are all equal in the sight of God, as the
Scripture says ; that's some comfort."

" The minister, indeed I what's the use of such a minister to
us? He is the rich man's minister, not the poor man's ; and the
church is the rich man's church. What is the church for ? For
the poor man ? No, for the rich I The poor man pays for it, but the
rich man uses it. Look at the rich man sitting boxed up in his
cushioned pew, all so warm and snug ; and look at the poor man
kneeling in the damp aisle on the cold stones. There's equality
for you I Did you ever know your parson to visit the sick poor,
examine into their wants, and administer to them the comfort of
his religion, as he calls it, in their afflictions ? Answer me that."

" I can't say I ever did, Ned ; but then you couldn't expect a
gentleman like our minister to go into poor people's houses —
huts may be, such as this is — it wouldn't suit, Ned. Of course
they consort with gentlefolks — with gentlemen and ladies like
themselves — not with poor people like us ; we mustn't expect it.
Pm sorry to say that a parson is a rare sight in a poor man's
dwelling."

" The rarer the better. Mat ; they only come for what they
can get; or, what's the same, to rivet closer the chains of us
slaves to them and their confederates. Look at my poor mother ;

26 FANNT^ THE LITTLE MILLINER:

I wonder if any one of the lot will come to see her in her
wretched place. It was only last night that she said she would
like to see a clergyman. Do you know, Mat," he said, speaking
low and earnestly, ^^ I think she has something on her mind. Do
you think,*' he continued, after a pause, " that she is so very ill
as to be in danger ?"

The old man seemed to ponder upon this. He fidgetted and
looked uneasy. Stooping down to the scanty fire, he endea-
voured with his breath to raise the smouldering embers into a
flame ; but there was " no heart in it," as he said ; " blowing at
it would only blow it out the sooner."

His companion watched his countenance and his actions with
anxiety. Hard as were the lines of the old man's face, they
were not so rugged as to prevent the evidence of some strong
emotion.

" Matthew, my old friend," said Ned, " tell me ; do you think
my mother really in danger? I have been hoping every day
that she was getting better."

" Ay, ay," said Matthew, ** the young always hope ; it is well
that they can, for it helps them to bear the better what they
have to suffer. But it would be wrong, Ned, to deceive you —
very wrong indeed : I am afiraid, my boy, that there is no hope
here. Look at that last spark of the fire just going out It is
so — ^yes, Ned, it is better that you should know the truth — it is
so, I fear, with your poor mother."

Ned groaned, and put his head between his hands.

•* Your mother was not always a poor woman ?" said Matthew,
inquiringly, after a pause.

"Do you know," said Ned, "I have often thought she had
some secret which she wanted to tell, but couldn't'*

" Was your father a poor man like us ?"

" I never knew my father ; he died, my mother has told me^
before I was bom. But it always made her ill to talk on that
subject; so it has been very seldom that I have ever spoken to
her about it."

" Well, Ned, I must say," said Matthew, kindly, " you hav6
always been a good son to her ; — a good son, and adutifiil son— ^
and an affectionate one — and you have not been ashamed to put
your hands to work in spite of your learning. I have often
wondered what made your mother so keen to give you your
edication. The things that you know are no use to a poor man.

OR, THS RICH AND THE POOR. 27

Book-learning always makes a poor man more unhappy by spur-
ring him to think of the difference between his gentleman's
edication and his poor man's lowness. Reading and writing is
no good to those who have no time to use them.''

'* I don't know, Matthew ; I have often thought there was
some reason for it that I could not understand. And sometimes
mother has begun to say something to me, and then she has con-
sidered, and left off. I remember once — it is now nearly two years
ago — she called me to her, and said very solemnly, ^ Edward, I
have something to say to you,' and then she stopped, and said—
*No, better not — better not raise hopes — but before I die I
must ' — and there she stopped again ; and I did not like to press
her to go on, it seemed to wring her so."

" Poor woman," said Matthew, ** sometimes I think I ought to
say poor lady, but it only puzzles me, and everything's for the
best Anyhow, my dame will take good care of her, poor thing I
It's fortunate, Ned, that your cottage is so close to ours. Look
out Ned ; the clergyman must pass our window — perhaps you
may see him coming."

The young man opened the upper half of the rude door which
formed the entrance to the humble dwelling, and looked out
long and anxiously on the moor. There was nothing to be seen
but the white expanse of snow which covered the ground, and
which, concealing the holes and inequalities of the plain, formed
one unbroken and dreary surface.

" There is nothing to be seen, and nothing will there be seen,
such a night as this. The snow lies thick on the ground. I
hope," he continued, doubtingly, '* that the parson knows the
road across the moor; it would be easy to fall into one of the old
holes, with the snow making all look alike as it does. He might
slip down the white woman's pit — not that I believe in such
nonsense — ^before he could tell where he was.'*

" We mustn't call all that nonsense, Ned, that we can't make
out," said Mat. " There's something about that pit more than
Common. There's a curse upon it There's a story that the
father of the present Lord Grandborough didn't get possession
of the land hereabouts by fair means. There was a great law-
suit about it"

" And, of course, the lord being the richest, got possession of
the land," said Ned.

** I don't know about that ; but he got it ; and that angered

28 FANNY^ THE LITTLE MILLINER:

the heart of the old lady that lost It. And one day, when she
was roaming, wild-like, near the pit, dressed in white as she
always was, the old lord came up on horseback, and she cursed
him by the side of the pit ; and the horse was frightened at her,
and reared up, and backed close to the edge, when the old lord
threw himself off, but the horse overbalanceditself somehow, and
fell over into the bottom of the pit — and it's frightfully deep —
and of course was dashed to pieces. And they do say that the
old lord died of the shock he received that day when he fell
from his horse."

" Then the curse is accomplished."

" No ; not so. Don't you know what the saying of our
country is, that a curse lasts for three generations ?"

" Well, Mat, I don't believe in such old woman's talcs. But
I hope the poor parson may keep clear of the pits on the moor ;
I should be sorry if he came to any harm."

*• No fear of that," said the old man. " He was born in the
place, and knows every inch of ground over the moor. But
what's that in the distance, over away there ? It can t be a tree,
there's no tree in that place ; and it don't look like a horse,
neither. Sure the minister would never come on foot all the
way from the town ?"

"It is something that moves," said Ned; "I fancy it's
coming this way."

They continued gazing at the dim object for some time,
without speaking.

" Whoever it is," observed Ned, breaking silence, " he seems
to know the road well enough. Did you see how he turned
aside from the long pond, and kept just on the edge of it, as if
he could see under the snow ?"

" Who can it be coming here at this time of night ? Some
one in trouble perhaps, who wants a hiding place."

'* Some one who knows the way," said Ned ; " or he would
never think of coming over the moor with the ground covered
with snow. But now that it comes closer, I can see that it is
not a man, but a woman."

" It's not the minister, then ; I was in hopes it might be some-
body from him."

" No," said Ned ; " it's a woman, with something in her arms
in a bundle ; but somehow, she doesn't look like one of us. And
see — now she stops ; she is looking round as if she was uncertain

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 29

which way to go ; and I can see that she walks heavily, as if
tired ; and no wonder, for it must be up to her knees in snow.
Now she comes on again, bold and fiercely, as if determined to
get over the ground. And now she stops to do something to
her bundle. She is coming on again — straight on—**

" Straight on I** cried out the old man. " Why, then, she is
coming right in the direction of the pit. Yes, I can see now ; that
little light from the moon shews her plainly. She must be some
stranger— she can't know the right path; or the snow, perhaps,
dazzles her eyes. Lord save us I — she will be right on to the
edge of the pit ! Shout, Ned, shout I you're younger than I ;
call her to stop — to stand still till we come."

Raising their voices, they shouted loud and shrill ; but the
warning came too late. The unfortunate woman, mistaking
perhaps the cause of their cries, only hastened her steps, and in
another moment, with a stifled scream, she plunged into the
treacherous abyss. At the instant of her fall, she raised her
arms on high, and, by a stronger ray of the moon's bright light,
which escaped through the clouds, a child was visible, and then
both disappeared together.

Matthew and Edward gazed at each other for a brief space in
silent horror. The old man first recovered his presence of
mind.

*' Run, Ned, run I" he cried hurriedly ; " mark the place while I
get the ropes. Remember, there's a child as well as a woman. I'm
sure I saw a child," he said, raising his voice, for he was already
almost out of hearing, "for I saw her try to heave it out of
danger from her arms, as she slipped in."

Without losing a moment, Matthew hastily collected together
sundry pieces of cord with which he was used to bind up wood ;
and quickly knotted them tightly together ; a stake standing
hard by, he' seized hold of it, and made his way as quickly as
possible to the edge of the chasm, which was three or four
hundred yards from the hut. There he held a rapid and anxious
consultation with Edward, as to what was best to be done. They
shouted down the pit, but no answer was returned, and no sound
was heard. They proposed to find a big stone, and to tie it to
the end of the cord, and so let it down by its own weight through
the snow, in the direction of the slip. This they did ; but they
found that the cord soon became impeded in its descent by the
snow and the inequalities of the surface.

30 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

'' I'll run back and get a spade," said Ned.

" A spade 1'* said the old man I — " Spades and shovels are of no
use here I" he exclaimed, despairingly. " They are down, poor
things ; down to the bottom by this time, and man's help is of
no avail. They must be dashed into a thousand pieces 1"

" Let us try something," said his companion. " Never let
them perish without trying to save them. The child is lighter
than the woman ; it may have lodged somewhere in the snow on
its way down. Give me hold of the rope, and do you hold on
by the other end, and I'll make a search for the child at any rate.
Perhaps I may meet with the woman too — who knows I A dying
person clutches hard at anything he can get hold of. At any
rate, I will try ; give me the end of the rope, and stand fast"

" It will never hold, I fear," said Matthew, passing the rope
quickly through his hands, and pulling at the knots as he went
on ; " it will never hold, Ned ; you can never trust to a knotted
cord. It's only risking life uselessly. No ; — it's a sad job, but
they're gone, poor things, gone ! — and nothing that we can do
can save them. The best thing to do is for you to run to the
town and get help, while I stay here and watch."

" Run to the town ! Why, it's more than three miles to the
town, and the snow lying thick. Before I could get back with
help, they would perish with the cold. No ; something must
be done, and we must do it"

" But I could never hold you up, Ned ; I couldn't do it ; let
alone the danger of the cord breaking. It's only wasting life.
Best to run to the town I"

" I will try," said Edward, determinedly ; " these poor crea-
tures shall not perish without an effort being made to save them.
Mat, hold on to the cord I"

" I won't let you risk your life this way," said the old man.
** I tell you I couldn't hold you up. Twenty years ago I might
have done it ; but now I am old, and hard work and poor fare
has not left much strength in me. Make your way to the town,
Ned, and take this staff with you ; it will help you on through the
snow. Stay," said the old man, a happy thought occurring to
him at the sight of the staff — " stay : — I've thought of it I If we
can contrive to get a hold for the end of this staff in the ground !
That's right, jam it in. Now, you see, I can pass the cord round
it, and let you down easy."

OR, THS RICH AND THE POOR. 31

" Capital 1** cried out Edward. " Give me the end of the
ropeP

" Stay ; that way will never do. You must let me fix it secure
round your body, under your arms. That's it ; now it can't
slip. But, the rope I — the rope I It will never hold. It's too
great a risk. It is, indeed !" and the old man stamped his feet
upon the snow, bewildered and perplexed at the urgency of the
case, and the peril of the attempt.

" I will try it, Matthew," said Edward, sternly. " Hold on,
then, for I am going to let myself down."

" Wait till I'm ready. Let me get a firm hold. Well, if you
will, I must. But, it's madness to do it Take care, whatever
you do, not to jerk the cord ; it's old, and wont bear a sudden
strain."

*^ How much rope is there ?" said Edward, as he was going
down.

" Forty yards, or more ; but that's nothing to the depth of the
pit Try with your toes to feel the bottom through the snow.
The pit goes shelving down a little here, but too steep to keep
your footing, without the help of a rope. That's a brave lad !
Be gentle with the rope," he cried out, as Edward disappeared
beneath the edge of the pit " Lord save us !" exclaimed the
old man, when he had let out nearly the whole extent of the
cord, and as if suddenly recollecting himself: — "he is gone
down, poor boy. But how to pull him up again ? I can never
do it I To think that my old head never thought of that ! Ned,
Ned, I say ! Stop, lad I You'll break the cord, you will ! I
must give more of it ; — he will have it I must let out more, or
it will snap to a certainty. Ned ! I say, lad, don't strain on
the cord so 1 'Bide a bit — 'bide a bit — it will never hold ! It
will go I It must go ! I feel the strands starting. He will be
lost I Ned, answer me I Speak, lad !"

But Edward, either not hearing Matthew's voice, or deter-
mined to proceed to the utmost in his bold attempt, made no
reply. And now the old man had come to the end of the cord,
and barely sufficient remained in his hand to enable him to keep
his hold. Exerting his utmost strength, with one foot planted
firmly against the bottom of the staff; with one arm outstretched
with a hard grasp at the top, and the other hand griping closely
the end of the doubtM cord ; his body thrown back ; and his

32 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

whole frame exhibiting a painful attitude of intense exertion, the
old man held firmly on. But the struggle was too severe to
allow him to sustain his position long. He felt himself gradually
growing weaker and weaker; he looked round for help, but
nothing was visible on the wide expanse of the dreary moor but
one unbroken surface of snow. He tried to call out ; but he
found he could not raise his voice without relaxing his hold of
the rope and staff, and that, he felt, he could not risk. In this
extremity, his strength rapidly failing, and his heart sinking
within him at the mortal peril of his young friend; and suffering
unspeakable agony, from the feeling of his own terrible respon-
sibility, one life — ^perhaps two — perhaps three, depending on
his power of endurance, he earnestly prayed for help ! And
there he stood; — the huge drops of sweat poured down his
wrinkled forehead, and crisped and hardened under the influence
of the frost, not unmixed with manly tears wrung from him
in his agony. Again and again he struggled to call out, but
his voice seemed frozen within him ; — still with desperate
strength he held on, though his strained eyeballs seemed ready
to start from their sockets, and his whole frame quivered with
emotion.

" Merciful Heaven !" he faintly uttered ; " it is all over I I ran
hold on no longer ! Woman — child — all ! — all are lost I"

OR, TH6 RICH AND THE POOR. 33

CHAPTER IV.

THE JOUBITBT— THE TIDINGS — THE INIf — BLACK WILL — DANOEB.

With all the speed with which four horses could carry him.
Lord Sarum pressed forward on the road to the north of
England. , From the hasty inquiries which he made by the
way, he ascertained that a lady and a child were passengers in
the conveyance which had passed the night before. So far,
therefore, it seemed, he was secure in his pursuit ; but Jis the
north coach "had the start of him," as the postboys said, by
more than twenty-four hours, there was no possibility of his over-
taking it, unless the snow, which every minute fell thicker and
thicker, were to cause some obstruction to its progress. But the
well-conducted coach had proceeded steadily and rapidly on
its way, and it was in vain that Lord Sarum lavished rewards and
promises on successive relays of postboys, and urged and prayed
them to get on faster and faster. . All that he could effect was to
proceed with such rapidity in the track of the stage-coach as
to prevent the remembrance of the lady and child from being
obliterated from the memories of the various waiters and chamber-
maids whose duties lead them to pay their respects to the " in-
siders" on all possible occasions of stoppages on the road. In
this way. Lord Sarum traced the wanderers from stage to stage,
till he arrived at the well-known house of entertainment in the
midst of a cluster of dwellings, forming the irregular village
of Sandy-Flats. He had determined to proceed as far as that
point, in order to obtain some certain information for his guid^
ance. It was true, that if the party of whom he was in search
had proceeded direct to Grandborough Castle, she would have
left the coach at the cross-road, three miles from the villaffc ; but
it was very unlikely, he considered, that she should do so, as she
was encuimbered with a child, • and the ground . was covered
with snow. Besides, the country in that direction consisted
almost entirely of waste land and moor ; the cross-road was un-
frequented, and was without houses, and almost without inhabit-
ants, save the wild and lawless bands which sometimes disturbed
those rude districts. Still, as a foreigner, she might not know
this ; but then she might be warned by her fellow-passengers

D

34 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

In the midst of these agitating reflections, he arrived at the sign
of the « White Bull."

The apparition of a postchaise drawn by four horses *' tearing
along the road," as the ostler of the White Bull expressed it,
soon brought out the landlady and all her staff, including waiter,
chambermaid, the ostler aforesaid, and the " boy," who, although
not officially an ostler, aspired to that dignity, and in the expec-
tation of ulterior advancement, was content to receive the kicks
of vicious horses, the beatings of the " regular" ostler, and
the cuffings of the landlady, sweetened by such occasional half-
pence as, in the absence of his principal, it was his luck to collect.
Lord Sarum beheld the assemblage with some perplexity, for
it did not suit his plans that, in a part of the country where
he was well known, his journey and its object should become
the talk of the populace. However, the postboys who had last
driven him knew only that he was in great haste ; he was safe on
that side : he resolved, therefore, to conduct his inquiry with
caution.

The landlady, as soon as she recognised his lordship, imme-
diately raised her voice on high to summon all her attendants ;
and bestowing a cuff " in a parenthesis" on the " boy," for
gaping with his mouth open, in which practice she was wont
habitually ^to indulge, whenever she was desirous of getting
rid of any superfluous energy that occasionally beset her, she
drew herself up at the entrance of her hotel, ready to drop
a profound curtsey to the noble lord who was about to honour
her with his presence. At the same moment, the postchaise, with
a crash and a jerk, drew up to the door.

The waiter immediately began to rub his hands with his
napkin, the ostler to scratch his head, the boy to open his
mouth, the chambermaid to adjust her cap, and the landlady to
sink into the earth, with her hands upraised to balance her
descent ; and smiling with all her might in that inconvenient
position, she ventured to hope that " his lordship was quite well,
and would he please to aUght ?"

The noble lord acknowledged the obeisance of the landlady
and the characteristic greetings of her attendants with a conde-
scending bend of his head, and was pleased to remark, that

" It was dreadful weather !"

" Very dreadful, my lord ; but the snow, as my good man
says, will do good ; it's better than the raw frost."

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 35

** The guard of the long coach," the waiter ventured to
observe, passing his napkin with nervous tremulousness from one
hand to the other, " thought that they would find more snow
as they went further north."

" Coach well- filled ?" asked his lordship, in a judicious tone,
calculated to convey his unconcern as to the persons in the
vehicle, and at the same time a proper regard for the traffic of the
road in his own country : — ** Coach well-filled ?" repeated his
lordship, as his eye wandered carelessly over the group, and
became fixed on the cowboy, whose mouth had remained open
during these preliminaries.

That astonished individual, who, from his lordship's marked
look, received the inquiry as a personal appeal to himself, was so
astounded at being spoken to by a lord, that he essayed to speak
in vain ; all he could do was to open his mouth wider and wider,
and make a convulsive movement with the pitchfork which
he held in his hand ; but the landlady catching a glimpse of his
unseemly behaviour, bestowed a cuff on the side of his head,
which made him shut his mouth with a sudden snap.

** Pretty well, your lordship," answered the landlady, " for
this time of the year ; but it is too cold for travelling outside.
There was— let me see — five inside — wasn't there five, Dick ?"
appealing to the waiter.

" Yes, my lord, five inside ; all gentlemen passengers."

The nobleman looked anxious.

** There wor one lady, wi' her child," said the ostler, who got out
at the cross-road leading to Grandborough ; and I think coachman
said she wor' going there ; didn't he, Bob ? — you heeard him."

Bob widened his mouth in obedience to his superior to cor-
roborate his assertion, and made a deperate attempt to articulate ;
but the chambermaid, with an excessive agitation of her apron,
and a profusion of curtseying, and of bridlings and wrigglings
of her head ; with her face all crimson, and her eyes expanding
wide and round at holding colloquy with a lord, chimed in,
speaking fast and eagerly : —

" Yes, my lord, the guard said, my lord, that a lady, who
seemed very ill, my lord; and she had a child, my lord — ^a child in
her arms ; the guard said that the lady would get down, say all
he could, at the cross-road, leading to Grandborough, my lord, al-
though the guard told the lady that the snow was dreadful deep,
and that there were no houses, and nobody on the road — all

d2

36 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

moor and common ; but the lady would go, my lord ; and so
as the coach couldn't stop, they left her in the road ; and—
and "

'* What else ?" asked Lord Sarum, in a tone of agitation, which
he felt impossible to repress.

" Nothing else, my lord ; that's all the guard told me ; only
he said it was just at daybreak this morning that they left the
lady in the road, and she seemed very sad, my lord."

Will your lordship please to alight," repeated the landlady ;

your lordship looks quite pale with the cold ?"

" Have you fresh horses ?"

" Yes, my lord ; that is, they're not entirely fresh, because
they've been at work all day ; but we shall have another pair
in shortly, fresh from a short stage. Will your lordship be
pleased to take some refreshment ?"

" Thank you ; no : I am obliged to be at the castle as
quickly as possible. Be pleased to let me have fresh horses
immediately. How is the upper road ? Much snow fallen ?"

" Both roads are bad in the dark," rejoined the landlady, " as
your lordship knows, especially when there's snow on the
ground ; and it is past six o'clock, and after that, the dark comes
on quick at this time of the year."

*' Ah ! very well ; as the upper road is so bad, I'll turn back
and take the cross-road."

" Your lordship will be going out of your way," said the land-
lady ; " but your lordship knows best. Bob," with a cuff to
the cowboy, " why don't you shut your mouth, and look after the
horses ?" Bob let fall his pitchfork, and scrambled off to the
stables.

" I wonder what makes Lord Sarum in such a hurry to get to
the castle, that he wont stop to eat or drink," said the ostler to
a dark-looking man who was sitting on a truss of straw in a
corner ; " he might order dinner, if it was only for the good of the
house. There's something in the wind, Tm thinking."

" Is that Lord Sarum in the chaise ?" asked the dark man.

" Yes ; we know him well in these parts. If you go out, you can
see him yourself."

" And he is going to Grandborough Castle in great haste ?"

" The boys tell me that he has been thundering down all
the way, as if it was a matter of life and death."

'^ Of life and death I" cried the man, starting up, much agitated.

OR, THE RICH AND TIIK POOR. Ot

but instantly checking his emotion : '^ and which road will he take
to Grandborough ?"

" The cross-road, though it's the longest — ^but of course great
folks have their fancies, and a lord can do as he likes."

The man's countenance assumed an expression of fierceness
at this observation of the cleaner of horses, which quickly
changed to a look of desperate resolution, as he sunk back in
meditation on his bed of straw.

" Now, Bob," cried the ostler, sharply, to his lieutenant, " lead
out the old mare."

Bob made a hasty toilet of the old mare's mane with a frag-
ment of an iron comb, and chirruped to the venerable animal to
turn round in her stall : but the old mare stood still.

" Why don't you make more haste, and a lord waiting for yon,
spoony-face ?" cried the ostler, adding emphasis to his reproach
by a vigorous argument of his thick-soled shoe to the nethermost
part of his assistant's corduroys, — " why don't you make more
haste ?" (another kick.) " What the ruin's the matter with the
old mare ? she don't seem to be in a hurry to drag a lord, at any
rate 1"

With an affectionate earnestness, he then added the superior
authority of his own voice to the chuck, chuck of his satellite ;
but the mare only elongated one eye, with a slight movement of
her head in the direction of the dispenser of oats, and stood stock
still.

Her appeal was not lost on the sympathetic ostler, who,
skilled in the language of beasts, scrutinized her limbs with a
professional eye, and passing his hands down her fore-legs, im-
mediately proceeded to scratch his own head violently — a sure
sign with that respectable functionary of intense emotion.

" Stiff as a hedge-stake ! There's no more move in her for
this day, that's certain : regularly knocked up ! It's a shame
to use a poor beast so, it is ; as if a lioss hadn't feelings as well
as a human cretur ! What do you open your mouth for,
stupid ? look at tother's legs, and see how that is."

The boy obeyed, and lifted up the fore-foot of the other.

" Lost a shoe ! the near-hind a loose 'un ! What's to be done
now?"

The ostler scratched his head again, and looked at the boy.
The boy looked at the ostler, and opened his mouth wider and
widen

38 FANMY^ THE LITTLE MILLINER:

" I do believe," pathetically exclaimed the ostler, " that what
with missus's scoldings, and the worriting of the hosses, and that
boy's always opening his mouth, I shall go crazy, and be of no
more use than a boss that's foundered ! Here's a job 1 Well*
these cattle can't go, that's certain. Bob, go and tell missus that
one horse is dead lame, and toher ha'nt got a shoe."

But Bob, on this occasion, evinced no more inclination to
move than the old mare.

'* What, are you stiff in the gabs too ?" said the ostler, becoming
irascible from the mishaps that had befallen his horses : " then
I'll teach you how to move," With this, he applied so extraor-
dinary a box on the ear of his assistant, that the boy, preferring
to encounter the anger in posse of his mistress, rather than the
wrath in esse of his immediate superior, immediately bolted out
of the stable, to convey the unwelcome tidings to the landlady.
His mistress received the news (after first bestowing a cuff on
the boy) with mingled feelings. On the one hand, she was
vexed that any accident should derange hef teams ; but, on the
other, here was the means of delaying the lord to dinner, which
would not only redound to the credit of her establishment, but
afford her the opportunity of making up an aristocratic bill
suitable to the rank of the noble visitor. By some mysterious
process, therefore, communicating her wishes to the " boys" who
had driven the last stage, those respectable functionaries posi-
tively declared, and intimated their readiness to swear, if neces-
sary, that their cattle were absolutely and completely done up,
exhausted, and, as they professionally averred in their enthu-
siasm, " had not a hair of their tails left, nor a leg to stand on ;"
and " that it would be nothing less than murder to try to make
them stir, which they couldn't do." To these asseverations the
landlady added her own opinion, that his lordship would get on
much quicker with the fresh horses, which she expected in " every
toinute," than with the tired ones, even if they could go, (and
they couldn't,) and hoped that his lordship would be pleased to
alight and honour her by partaking of such refreshment as she
could prepare on such short notice.

Lord Sarum, seeing that the case was hopeless, and unwil-
ling to excite suspicion as to the motive of his haste, thought it
best to submit with a good grace ; he alighted, therefore, and
entered the house.

** Missus has got the lord inside at last," said the ostler,

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 39

addressing his voice to the darkened comer, where the stranger
had been reclining on the straw ; but the stranger had disap-
peared.

" What's become of Black Will ?" said the ostler ; « he fan-
cies I don't know him, I suppose; I wonder what game he's
after now ?"

In the meantime, events were preparing of threatening im-
port to the house of Grandborough. Great discontent pre-
vailed in the northern counties, especially in that in which the
family seat of Lord Sarum was situate ; and deep and dangerous
conspiracies had been entered into by the most desperate of the
starving population. Their privations and sufferings, for some
time past, indeed, had been most severe ; and the abject misery
of their social condition was readily believed to have its origin in
alleged political wrongs, which they were incited to attempt to
redress. The discontent of the people thus assumed a character
both political and social; and the harangues to which they
greedily listened of the evils which were arbitrarily inflicted on
them, and of the influence of the physical force which it was in
their power to exercise, had inflamed and exasperated them to
madness.

It was on this same night, when the heir to the titles and
estates of Grandborough was on his road to the family seat, that
a secret meeting was agreed to be held of the discontented, at a
spot near the cross-road, and not far from Grandborough Castle.
Of the nature and magnitude of these discontents. Lord
Sarum, from his long residence abroad, and from the little at-
tention he had paid to the subject of the condition of the labour-
ing population, was entirely ignorant. He had heard some
vague reports of a disposition to riot on the part of the people,
but he was little aware of the dangerous height to which that
disposition had risen. Pre-occupied with the one engrossing
idea of overtaking the bearer of the supposed begging-letter, he
neglected, on this occasion, to make inquiries as to the state of
the country, or the disposition of its large labouring population.
Besides, he considered himself at all times in perfect security in
the immediate neighbourhood of the family estate ; and the more
so, as his father had acquired a character for extreme severity in
dealing with the complaints or offences of the labouring classes,
which, in ordinary times, was calculated to strike terror into the
hearts of the discontented. It was unfortunate, however, that the

40 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

eagerness and haste which Lord Sarum had exhibited to reach the
castle with the least possible delay, was suspected by one who
was on his way to the secret meeting, to have a very different
motive from that by which the young nobleman was really
actuated. While Lord Sarum, therefore, remained at the inn,
inwardly fretting at his detention, but gracious with smiles to
the landlady, as she assiduously prepared for him the most lordly
repast which the shortness of the time allowed, Black Will, made
the best of his way by a circuitous route to the place of meeting.

" The cross-road is very bad, my lord," reiterated the busy
landlad}', who, very fussy and very talkative, thought it part of
her duty to entertain her guest with conversation as well as
victuals ; " The people tell inc that the snow lies very deep ; and
it's a bad road, my lord, at any time. Would your lordship like to
stay the night, and then your lordship would have the daylight
for travelling ?"

But Lord Sarum intimated to his hostess in a manner the most
condescending that particular business obliged him to proceed
without delay to the castle ; and that he preferred the cross-road,
as he had a desire to see that part of the country ; and he made
it his particular request that she would give directions for bring-
ing the chaise round to the door with the least possible delay.

" To be sure, my lord, if it is your lordship's pleasure ; after
your lordship's long absence abroad, it must be a very great plea-
sure, to be sure, to your lordship to come home again to your lord-
ship's own castle. Your lordship shall not have to wait a moment'*

"You are very obliging, Mrs. Whiley; everything is very
good, and this ale is excellent I shall have great satisfaction, 1
assure you, in sleeping again at the old castle. Besides, we
expect friends, and it is right that I should be there to direct
preparations. The horses, if you please, Mrs. Whiley ; it is
getting late."

Little did Lord Sarum think, as he thus hurried his departure
from the way-side inn, that he was unconsciously rushing into
imminent danger.

41
OR, TUB RICU AND TUB POOR. ^*

CHAPTER V.

THE I4ABOUBEB8* MEETING. — THE 8UFFEB1NG8 OF THE POOR. — REBECCA —
A DESPERATE PROJECT. — AN UNEXPECTED INTRUSION.

The place fixed on for the meeting of the discontented labourers
and others of the district was an old bam, which had formerly
belonged to the homestead of a small farm on the Grandborough
estate, but which, on the principle of large farms being more
profitable to the proprietor, had been incorporated with other
tenancies, so as to form one large holding under a single tenant.
The building, though much dilapidated, afforded sufficient shelter
from the weather, and from its retired situation to the left of the
cross-road leading to Grandborough Castle, it was well adapted
for the purpose of a secret assemblage.

It was at this spot, as soon as the darkness set in, that a motley
group rapidly began to congregate ; — sturdy miners, who had
struck for wages — mechanics and factory men, thrown out of em-
ployment by the stoppage of the mills; and agricultural labourers
and others of all sorts out of work, and without the means of sub-
sistence. These presented a gaunt and menacing crowd ; and it
was easy to see, from their sullen and determined looks, that
they were men whom many and severe privations and long and
painful suffering had soured and fitted for desperate enterprise.
As they recognised one another, and felt assured that they were
among friends, and that no spy was present, they began to talk
freely of their grievances and their intentions.

"Where's young Ned Lacy?" asked a short, thick-set man, a
mechanic, in a velveteen jacket, who seemed to take a lead
among the discontented ; " he ought to be among us this night,
of all nights in the year."

" His mother's dying," answered a rough-looking miner ; " he
can't leave her no how ; but he's game, depend on it, when the
time comes."

"The time is come now, my men ; the soldiers are away on
the other side of the country, and this is the time to do the job,
or never 1 I don't like his consorting so much," added the speaker,
" with old Matthew the woodman in the cottage yonder, beyond
the White Woman's Pit. I doubt he isn't safe, that Matthew."

42 FANNY, THE LITTLE HILLtNER:

"Never fear old Matthew," rejoined the miner; *he's as
true as steel. There's as good ore in that chap as ever was found
in lode. No fear of Matthew."

" Why don't he join us, then ? I don't like half-and-half
fellows — all or nothing, I say."

" I'll answer for old Matthew," said a sun-burnt labourer, whose
haggard looks and stem but patient features portrayed at once
the severity of his privations and his power of long endurance ; —
"FU answer for old Matthew; he never will join us, that I
know ; but he will never betray us : he's as sound as oak. But
where's Black Will ? he's the man to be with us to-night Who
knows anything about Black Will ? "

" Depend upon it," said the man in the velveteen jacket, " that
Black Will is at work for us, wherever he is : Will is true to the
back-bone ; and he has a head too I There isn't a cleverer chap
in all the north country for contriving a scheme; he makes
every joint to fit, and turns out his work so smooth and clean,
that I defy the cleverest beak in the county to spy out a chink
to see through. That's the man for us."

"And he has his own wrongs to revenge too," put in a
sturdy farming man, grasping an immense cudgel in both hands
as he spoke; — " When the lord there in the castle transported his
poor brother for killing a hare — his brother that died in the con-
vict ship that caught fire, when all the prisoners were burnt to
death — ^you remember it, Stephen — "
Ay — ay ; we remember it — "

Will swore he would never rest till he had his revenge ; and
he will have it this night."

" My friends," interposed a decently dressed man, who seemed
to belong to a higher class than the generality of the persons
assembled in the bam, " we must not be led away by the desire
of revenge on the part of any one individual ; we have common
rights to maintain and common wrongs to redress, and we must
not allow the great cause of the rights of labour which we have
met to uphold to be damaged by any private revenge or unne-
cessary violence."

" Well done, schoolmaster," exclaimed many voices ; "give us
a bit of a speech."

" What we want," continued the individual who was thus
encouraged, "is regular employment and adequate remunera-
tion ; a fair day's wages for a fair day's labour."

OR, THE BICH AND THE POOR. 43

" Hear himl hear him P responded his willing hearers. " Well
done, schoolmaster I "

" There is plenty for all," continued the orator, " if it was pro-
perly administered. How is it that, in this great nation, the
richest on the face of the earth, and with a power of machinery
and of production equal to the labour of two hundred millions
of human beings — how is it, I say, that the bulk of its population
is constantly in a state of greater destitution and misery than the
people of any other country ? "

"Ay," said the mechanic, "and how is it that all the
machinery that is invented, instead of making our labour lighter,
makes it heavier? It's because all the profit goes to the rich,
and all the labour remains with the poor. The more machinery,
the worse wages.

" But this should not be," interrupted the schoolmaster ; "the
labouring poor ought to participate in the general advantages of
wealth and science. Machinery ought to be made to aid the
labour of the industrious poor, and not to beat it down."

" It's all the fault of the government," cried out many voices.
" Why don't the government do better, and attend to the wants
of the poor man?"

" Better not work at all," uttered a powerful looking man,
speaking rapidly and with energy, " than work for the wages
they give us ; it's not sufficient to keep body and soul together.
Better to dare the worst, than drag on our miserable lives as we
do now ! What is life worth this way ?"

" It is the parliament that ought to take the matter up," re-
sumed the schoolmaster.

" But the parliament folks," said another, " do nothing but
quarrel and wrangle among themselves; for the ministers only
think how to keep themselves in, and the opposition people only
think how to get the government people out, so that between
the two, the cause of the poor labourer falls to the ground."

" They agree well enough, though," chimed in a vivacious
little man, with an excessively hungry look, " when they want
to tax us ; then they're all of a mind ; but they take good care
not to tax themselves."

" Or to build gaols for us," cried out another ; " or to invent
new punbhments, or vote money for more treadmills !"

" We must stand by one another," resumed the mechanic, " and
make a grand struggle to get our rights* There's distress every-

44 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

where, and nothing but starvation stares us in the face. Many

a mother does not know where to set a morsel of food for her
famishing children ; and whose fault is that but of those who rule

over us ? For I say, that where a man or woman is willing to

work, and where there is plenty for all, it is the fault of the rich

and the government if any one is in want"

" But what can we do ?" asked a hard-featured rustic, per-
fectly willing to follow any leader on any deed of violent re-
dress — " what can we do ? — that's what I want to know. I'm
ready to do anything, for my part; only let us know what's to be
done."

" We must strike a blow," said the mechanic, " to make the
rich fear us, and then, perhaps, they will attend to us ; and this
is the night to do it If the great castle yonder were burned
down, that would be a hint to the great ones that we are to be
trampled on no longer."

A general huzza welcomed this wild proposal.

" But we don't want women," said he, looking round ; " it will
be rough work, my men, but a famous deed to talk of. I wish
the women were not here."

" I wont agree to any violence," exclaimed the schoolmaster ;
" I am for argument, not force. All violence is sure to end inour
destruction. Unarmed men have no chance against soldiers."

" No — no violence," replied the mechanic ; " all can be done
quietly — quite quietly : but I say the women are better away."

More than one woman was present at the meeting, rough and
masculine-looking, but hollow-eyed and emaciated from over-
working and want of food. On these the men now looked with
disapproval, as unfit associates at such a time ; but the females
asserted their right, boldly and fiercely, to mingle in their deli-
berations.

" This be no place for thee, Becky," said a tall, bony man in a
smock-frock, to one of the females who seemed to be labouring
under strong excitement ; *^ better go home."

" Home !" cried the woman, suddenly stepping forward, and
holding up her hands convulsively — " home ! what home have I ?
Go — look — and see the wretched place you call a home! No
fire on the hearth — no food on the shelf — no bed to lie on — no
stool to sit on — no clothes to cover me ! — do you call that a home ?
Better be like the beasts of the field : the wild beasts have their
dens to shelter them ; and they have food, too, for they seize

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 45

it for themselves; but what have I? What have we, poor,
toiling, cringing creatures ? Neither home, nor food, nor
covering I We are less cared for than the herds and flocks that
we tend, for they have a value ; but we, merely men and women 1
we have none ! It is all machinery now ; that's the labouring
man's curse 1 How can human flesh and bones compete with
wood and iron ?"

" Better go home, Becky," repeated the labourer, wishing to
soothe her ; '^ we have something in hand to-night that isn't fit
for the like of you to look on : our work isn't woman's work,"

" And why not woman's work as well as man's ?" retorted the
angry woman; "do not we suffer as well as you — nay, more
than you ? — for it is for us to sit and watch by the side of the
dying husband and the starving child, while you can seek dis-
traction abroad. Not woman's work I It is woman's work, and
woman's vengeance ! What are the sufferings of the man com-
pared to the sufferings of the woman ! It is the mother's heart
that pines and breaks to see, day by day, and hour by hour, the
wretchedness of her little ones ! If men arc no longer men, and
will not right us, we must right ourselves ! I would not see my
children starve before my eyes without raising my voice, ay,
and my hands too, for help ; and if not for help, for vengeance !"

" I cannot but say, Becky, that you have had a weary time of
it ; and the loss of your children has been a grievous trial to you.
Nay, Rebecca, I did not mean to pain you ; there ought to be
no woman's tears to turn us from our purpose to night; but sor-
row softens the heart, and God knows you have enough to weep
for!"

" Yes," replied the woman, with an hysterical sob of anguish,
"I thought so once ; I thought that sorrow softens the heart; but
now I feel that it hardens the heart ! Who could bear, as I have
borne, to see my little children, one by one, pine, and languish,
and die ! When they came home from that horrible mill, where
hard-hearted savages grind down children's bones to make money
for themselves, how I have wept over their strained and wearied
limbs and their little fleshless bodies, and cursed their cruel task-
masters for their selfishness !"

" But even that work, Becky, was better than none."

" No, it was worse than none ; it was a living death ! None
but little helpless children would submit to such wicked treat-
ment. And why do they submit ? Because they are weak and

46 FANNY, THE UTTLE MILLINER:

helpless, and have none to stand up for them. And I, their
mother, was weak enough, and fool enough, and wicked enough
to sacrifice my own offspring for the sake of the miserable pit-
tance which they earned by the sacrifice of their childhood, of
their health, and of their lives !"

" It's a shame to see how little they get for their work, and
how ill-treated they are besides," said the man ; *' but we will
have a change !"

" Eighteen-pence a-week — that's what they give them ; and
some of those poor pennies often mulcted by the knaveries prac-
tised on the children. Eighteen-pence a-week for six days'
work of fourteen, sixteen hours a-dayl"

" Shame !" cried out many voices ; " it's a burning shame I
No man nor woman ought to submit to such cruelty !'*

" Ay ; as the rich found that grown men and women would
not submit to be put on any longer, they schemed to make
the little children their slaves. For cheap, it seems, they must
make everything! They couldn't make cotton cheaper — the
foreigners make 'em pay for that ; nor wood and iron easier to
buy; nor taxes less — come what will, the taxes must be paid —
the king sees after that ; so they determined to get it out of the
children; for, poor little things! they could not resist But
whose fault was that ? Their parents' fault, to be sure ; and
their parents' crime ! My God ! what must the misery of those
parents be who can consent to see their little children perish
by inches before their eyes, in order to bring in their wretched
mite to the scanty weekly store !"

" It's a shame !" repeated the angry hearers, who had gathered
round the childless mother, and were becoming intensely ex-
cited by her vehemence ; '* it's a shame, it is ! and God's curse
must be on it, and on those who force the poor to do it 1"

** Oh, you should have seen the poor little things !" continued
Rebecca, warming from the sympathy which was shewn to the
enumeration of her v^rongs, — " you should have seen them, as
they crawled home after their wearisome labour ; one crippled,
one fevered, another stupid from exhaustion ! You should have
seen them, as they crawled slowly fi-om their everlasting work
to their miserable home I No play — no shouts — no songs — no
sports! — poor people's children never play; they only work ! —
but all sick, and sad — more like old men and women than
young, playsome children! And then, how they slept I It was

OB, THE RICH AKD THE POOB. 47

like the sleep of the dead; not the sweet and refreshing
repose of childhood, but the feverish, restless sleep of over-
worked bodies. They would sink on to the floor in sleep with
the dry crust in their mouths, famished though they had been
all day, too tired to cat the food that could be found for them.
And then the pain and trouble of waking them out of their
sickly sleep in the early winter morning, that they might
make haste, and tnidge through the cold snow, to be in time at
the mill. How they shivered, and cried, and tried to force
open their aching eyes longing for sleep, and their tired limbs
longing for more rest — and cried, and cried again I And these
were my children ! 1 carried them in my womb — I fed them at
my breast — and I sold their hearts' blood for money ! I, their
mother, did it— was forced to do it ; forced by want and famine 1
And they died I Yes, they died — all died! 1 have now no
child — neither husband nor child ! I am alone. They died —
but I live ! Yes ; 1 live to have vengeance on their op-
pressors!"

The rugged natures of the hardy labourers were wildly moved
by the rude eloquence of the frantic woman, whose recital of
the wrongs and sufferings of the poor met with ready sympathy
from those who had felt so keenly, and who knew so well, the
bitterness of the misery she described. The passions of the men
were roused to a pitch of angry fury ; and the murmurings of
the meeting rose to a height of excited uproar, drowning all
attempts at moderate counsel, when, in the midst of the agita-
tion. Black Will, appeared, hot with excitement and breathless
with haste. At once he assumed the leadership, and addressed
the angry multitude with the deep, low voice and repressed
action which evinced the unmistakeable determination of a man
in earnest.

" We must be quick, my men," he began, " or we shall lose
the chance. Who do you think I left at Sandy Flats ? The son
of the great lord of the castle !"

" The son of the tyrant I"

^* And what do you think he is come about ? Post haste —
slashing haste ! — four horses there must be to drag one lord ;
and not haste enough even that for him. He is coming to put
us down."

" He shan't! — ^he can't ! — he wont put us down I"

^^ But he can set spies on us, and hunt us down, and set the

48 FAMinr, th£ little milliner:

soldiers — and those that are worse than soldiers, the cruel yeo-
manry — on us ; and then there will be a pretty slashing of women
with sabres, and thrusting through of children with bayonets. A
nice sight for men to see \^

^* But we will die first ! If we stand by one another, the
soldiers can never do anything against the numbers of us. A
soldier's only a man, after all, when the fight comes hand to
hand r

^* But the young lord is coming to set them at you. He is
even now on the road — on the cross-road, there — to the castle."

" Fire the castle ! Bum it down ! We wont leave one stone
upon another T

" But they will be prepared for us ; the young lord is on his
way to defend the castle, and to greet us with leaden bullets T

^^ Let us secure him, then. We will gag him, and make him
help to bum down his own castle I"

" And which of you will do it ?"

" All ! all I" responded many voices.

*^ I will have nothing to do with it," said the schoolmaster,
loudly and eagerly; " I will have nothing to do with any
violence. Violence never did good to a good cause ; it only
gives it a bad name, and prejudices those who have the power
to help us against all our proceedings."

" Stand apart, then !" said Black Will. « Only let those have
a hand in it who have a mind to it. But no treachery T

'^ I will do nothing in this matter ; and I will say nothing ;
but I will have no hand in any violence. That's my maxim."

" A very good maxim for you, schoolmaster, for your tool is
your tongue; but our tools arc our own hands and arms; and,
please luck ! we will put 'em to work this night in a way that will
have more effect than all the talk of all the schoolmasters that
ever taught grammar. And now, my men, who arc for seizing
the young cub before he reaches his den ?"

Ilalf-a-dozen determined looking men here stood forward,
each armed with a formidable bludgeon.

" Watch for him," said Black Will, " on the cross-road ; then
bind his eyes, and bring him here."

They were about to leave the barn on their desperate mission,
when a firm knock was heard at the barn-door. It was opened,
and to the astonishment of those who were acquainted with his
person, Lord Sarum stood before them I

on, THE RICU AND THE POOR. 49

CHAPTER VL

BBBECCA'8 WBONGS. — THE BBYELATION OF THE PLOT. — LOBD SABUM's

PEEIL.

The young nobleman had left the inn at Sandy Flats, with a
pair of tired horses, which he urged on towards the castle, where
he expected to hear tidings of her who was the object of his jour-
ney ; but the snow had accumulated in huge masses on diflerent
spots of the unfrequented road, and it was with the greatest
difficulty that the driver could force his way through the heavy
drifts. At last, all further progress became im])ossible ; the
horses' feet balled with the snow ; the wheels became encumbered
and encrusted with the frozen mass, and the chaise stuck fiist. In
this difficulty, Lord Sarum resolved to mount the saddle-horse of
the post-boy, and make the best of his way to the castle, in-
structing the boy to go back on the other horse to the inn, and
get help for the extrication of the chaise. But he soon found
that the horse on which he rode rather delayed than forwarded
his progress. Dismounting, therefore, and leaving it to the
animal's sagacity to find his way back to his stable, he endea-
voured to reach the castle by a short cut. The snow, however,
was deep, and his progress difficult Observing footsteps on
the snow in the direction of a large building, which indistinctly
shewed itself in the darkness, but which the snow, from its con-
trast, rendered visible, he bent his steps in that direction, in the
hope of procuring a guide, or at least some assistance to help
him on his way to the castle. When he reached the door, he was
surprised to hear the hubbub of many voices ; but as he had no
suspicion of what was going on, he knocked ; and presently found
himself in the midst of a band of desperate men.

As he looked around, he thought he recognised more than one
face that was known to him ; and turning his eyes on the remark-
able countenance of Black Will, he at once remembered him as
the brother of the poacher who had been transported at his father's
instance, and of whose trial he had been a spectator shortly be-
fore he went abroad. He did not like the looks of the people,
for more than one eye scowled on him ; but as he was alone
among them, he thought it prudent to exhibit no sign of fear or

E

50 FAHKTy THE UTTLB MILLIXBE:

suspicion; and nodding to Black Will, he said, ^* that he was glad
to see some one there whom he knew, fixr he wanted a man to
guide him by the shortest and easiest cat to Grandborough
Casde.''

There was a dead silence. The throng that a moment before
was so tumultnooSy was now hashed and stUL Those who knew his
person feared some mishap, for they thought that he would not thus
yenture among them without being backed by a sufficient force ;
— 'his story of not knowing the best way to his own castle they
looked on as a shaoL Others, whose passions had been wound up
to the highest pitch, and who were thirsty to Tent their anger on
some object, regarded his appearance with wonder, and almost with
superstitious joy, as a victim thrown in their way as it were mira-
culously, and voluntarily presenting itself for sacrifice. Many
who did not know him were dumb-founded at the sudden ap-
parition of a '^ gentleman" in such a place and at such a time,
and were puzzled to understand the meaning of his acquaintance
with Black Will their redoubtable leader.

In the meantime, the frantic Rebecca, her face flushed with
passion, and her sunken eyes flaring firom their deep sockets with
the wild frenzy of insanity, stalked slowly forward, and confronted
the young lord. She glared on him for awhile with a fixed and
earnest gaze, which seemed to try to search him through and
through.

"I know you,** she said, speaking deliberately and solemnly; —
** I know you. Lord Augustus Viscount Sarum ; you were one
of the brutes who hounded on the kidnappers of the law to seize
on my poor dead husband : I saw you at the trial, talking and
smiling with the judge, and helping the lawyers to convict my
poor George : yes, it was you, and that tyrant, your father, who
made the wife desolate and the child fatherless. And for what ?
For stealing one of your lordsbip^s hares for food!"
My good woman — "

Don't good woman me I I am not a good woman ; I was a
good woman once, when my husband and I laboured together, and
our children smiled about us. But now I am what you and your
father have made me."

" My good woman "

" I tell you I am not a good woman! When my poor husband
was sentenced to be transported by your tyrannizing laws, then I
felt my poor heart crushed ; but when the news came of the

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR« 51

fire in the ship, and that my poor George was burnt — ^yes,
burnt — burnt, I say — ^bumt to cinders in the flaming ship! —
then I felt that my very brain was scorched, and all good de-
parted firom me ! My children died one by one I All died I
And it was you and yours who killed them! Their blood
and his blood are on your and your father's heads; and it
cries aloud for vengeance I But you shall suflcr for it. — This
night your proud castle will blaze and bum I And why not,"
she added, turning to the excited men, " why not thrust
him into it, and bum him as they burnt my husband ? I will
doitr

'^ Rebecca !" exclaimed Black Will, at this indiscreet dis-
closure of their plans to the heir of the house of Grandborough,
" what have you done ? You have betrayed our secret, and
now we are all implicated, either in the fact or the intention —
and one is as bad as the other, so far as the law goes."

"Betrayed your secret! Is that your fear? Why, what
sort of men are you, that fear his telling a secret which you can
make him keep ? Dead men tell no tales !"

All those assembled perceived in a moment the danger to
which they were now exposed. Here was Lord Samm among
them, and the secret object of their meeting had been disclosed
to him who was the very person who could turn it most to
their destruction. And he knew many of them, and might be
able to identify many more. The point was critical. — They had
no preconceived plan of shedding blood ; but now it was, " my
life or yours !" and the looks of most of those present betrayed
the dangerous direction to which their thoughts were turning.
Black Will himself seemed troubled to decide on his course of
action ; he scanned the faces of his followers and confederates,
and saw that they reflected his own thoughts; but still he
hesitated to aid in the commission of a crime which he had been
far from meditating. Had he met the young lord in conflict,
the remembrance of his brother's terrible death, and his over-
powering desire of revenge would have prompted him without
remorse to take the life of one of a family against whom he che-
rished habitual hatred. But to kill in cold blood! to put to
death an unarmed and unresisting man ! to butcher him like an
animal, the idea was revolting. — He looked at his companions ;
he looked at the young lord in his mortal peril ; he rapidly re-
volved the danger of letting him go free as a witness against

E 2

32 FANNY, TUB LITTLR MILLINER:

himself, and against those who had confided in his leadership;
and then he thought of the only alternative left for their safety —
the young lord's death ! He passed his hand across his face, and
shuddered.

But now the raging Rebecca raised her voice again, and
stimulated the hesitating multitude to action.

** What are you — men or boys? Are you only fit to talk, and
not to do ? It is deeds, not words, that are wanted in these
times; big words do nothing. Or are you fools?— I say, are
you such fools as not to see that now you are all in the power of
this lord to do with you as he likes ? — imprison you — transport
you — hang you — burn you, may be — as my poor George was
burnt 1 Good news now for your wives and your children I plenty
of work for the constables, and the lawyers, and the gallows !
But perhaps they will burn your bowels before your face, and
then chop off your heads, like gentlemen conspirators. Look to
yourselves now, I say ; there stands one of your enemies among
you. Let him go free, like fools, and he will hang you all. But,
I say, dead men tell no tales I"

" She is right," said a determined-looking man ; '' the woman
is right. It is life or death for us ; one life against many lives.
Tliere is only one way to choose."

" She is right," repeated many voices ; " it is one life against
a hundred There is only one thing to be done — the lord
must die !"

With that, they rushed upon him and confined his hands,
which they bound tightly behind his back.

^' Kill him ! kill him !" shrieked Rebecca. ^' His death will
be sweet to me, for he killed my husband and my children I"

" Kill him ! kill him I" repeated the crowd. " The shortest
way the better.

^^ Hang him up to this beam I" shouted one.

" Strangle him anyhow I" cried another.

" Knock him on the head I"

" Hold I" cried their leader. " Stay your hands, my men !
Let us see if we cannot secure him without shedding blood !"

" No I no I" cried some of the most infuriated of the men ; " he
must die I Either him or us— one or the other ; and better one
life than many."

*' My friends — Will Ranger, and you, Rebecca — hear me,"
cried out the young nobleman in this extremity, — ^Miear me I I

ORj TUB RICH AND THE POOB. 53

promise you, on my sacred word of bonour, that I will keep
secret everything that has passed to-night. I assure you, I am
on a private affair of the greatest importance."

" Was it to set the soldiers on us ?'' asked one of those who
held him, mockingly.

" No — no ; it was a very different matter 1"

" What was it, then ? Perhaps you can tell us what it was
you were after?'

'^ I cannot explain it to you, my friends; it was a matter
altogether private. I cannot tell it to you.**

" Oh, you can't tell us, can't you ? Well, presently you will
not be able to tell anybody anything, and that will do nobody
any harm. Now, my mates, are you ready ? Hoist him up to
the beam in the comer T'

" Stay a moment, for God's sake f Reflect on what you arc
doing. You are about to commit a murder ! What good will
my death do you ?"

" Prevent you from peaching ; that's the good it will do. It's
your life or ours — that's the plain matter; and we had rather it
was you than us :— we must take our chance of the rest."

" But, my good men, my good fellows, to do this horrid deed
almost within sight of the castle — it is horrible ! — on my father's
estate, too "

" His father's estate I" screamed out the exulting Rebecca
— " his father's estate ! How did he get the estate ? Don't we all
in the country know how he got it ? That's another of the wicked
acts that he and his have to suffer for. Docs not the poor
lady that they got the lands from still roam about the fields and
haunt the old pit ? Ha ! that is his proper burial place ! Cast him
into the pit, and then no more will be seen of him, and the curse
of the white woman will be fulfilled. To the pit with him ! Drag
him to the White Woman's Pit, and cast him into it — that's a
good doom ; it is almost as good as burning him alive, as they
did my husband I" And then she laughed, and shrieked, and
clapped her hands in madness. But the fervour of her words
and the energy of her manner had a powerful effect on ihc
excited auditory who surrounded her. Besides, there was the
show of reason in her advice, which was the more palatable, as
the crowd was really undetermined as to the mode of the young
lord's death, though earnestly resolved on its execution. His
death, by casting him from the precipice of the pit^ would at the

54 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

same time accomplish their object by removing for ever the witness
of their criminal conspiracy, and serve as a hiding-place for his
remains ; while it saved them from the revolting necessity of
embruing their hands in his blood, and of being the spectators of
his actual death. It was with one consent, therefore, and with a
sort of eagerness, that they acceded to the suggestion of the mad
Rebecca* There were some, however, who strenuously opposed
all violent practices ; but their few voices were drowned in
the multitude of those more determined, and more alive, perhaps,
to the dangerous consequences of allowing their victim to go
at large. Hastily placing the young nobleman on a hurdle
which was opportunely found, and binding him securely to
the stakes, they bore him rapidly froui the bam towards the
White Woman's Pit, which was not more than a mile from the
place of meeting, and where Matthew was still holding on with
desperate energy to the rope from which was suspended the
young peasant who had boldly ventured his life in the attempt to
rescue the stranger and her child.

OB, TUB RICH AND THE POOB« 55

CHAPTER VII.

THE WHITE WOMAN*8 PIT— THE CHILD— THE VIETUES OF THE POOE—
BEFLECTI0N8 AND RESOLVES — ^LITTLE FAMNT.

" Steady^ lads, and sharp," muttered the man who had assumed
the leadership in the terrible act of vengeance ; " are we right in
the direction of the Pit ? It must be hereabouts ; but the snow
covers all up."

"Come on," cried Rebecca; "follow me; we are close on
it. I know the Pit well ; often have I looked down into the
dark hole, and wondered what was at the bottom. Ay I and
sometimes I have thought I heard the shrieking of the white
woman, complaining of the wrong that was done to her by her
oppressors. Fit burial-place for the heir of the house of Grand-
borough I and a beautiful bride for a young lord I I hope she
will hug him close I"

" Hold your peace, Rebecca," interposed the man, angrily ;
" we want no talk to distract us from what we have to do : let us
do our work like men — silently and surely. What do you stop
for, lass ? go on, or let us go on."

But Rebecca stood motionless and silent, one arm upraised in
an attitude of fixed attention, and the other thrust back, as if to
forbid the further progress of the bearers; her whole appear-
ance betraying the extremity of superstitious awe.

"Hush I" she said, in a whisper; "hushl I see something I
It must be her — the white woman herself— at the edge of the
pit ; there she is, waiting for her bridegroom 1 Bear him on, my
men ; bear him on softly. What I are you afeeard ?" she whis-
pered, scornfully, as her followers, having caught a glimpse of
the strange apparition, shrunk back aifrighted. " Come on, I
say ; it is the living that we have to fear, not the dead I"

But still the men paused and hesitated. At that moment, a
cry was heard, so shrill, so' piercing, so unearthly — like a fearful
sound of woe wrung from some vexed spirit by more than mortal
agony — that the bearers suddenly dropped their burthen, and
commenced a precipitate retreat. But Rebecca moved boldly
on ; and one or two, stimulated by her example, and ashamed to
fly from what a woman dared to face, followed in her pathi

56 FANMY, TUB LITTLE MILT.INER:

Presently they came near enough to distinguish the form of a
man, in the attitude of some desperate struggle.

" Help I for God's sake, help ! Come quickly, or I shall leave
go ! I can hold on no longer I"

" It is Matthew, the woodman," cried out Rebecca. " Come
on, lads. — How now. Mat? you pull as if the white woman was
dragging you down to her bed. Why, man, you look as scared
and as pale as the young lord did just now, when they bound
him to the hurdle I"

" Quick — quick !" said Matthew ; " catch hold — hold on hard ;
for the love of God, hold on ! — there are three human lives de-
pending on that cord 1 Now draw up ;— quick, but draw gently.
Lord's sake, don't chafe the rope. Is it heavy ?"

The parties who, a few minutes before, were eager for the
death of the unfortunate Lord Sarum, were now not less willing
to render their assistance to save life, although they knew not of
whom, or wherefore. Under the superintendence of Matthew,
they carefully drew the burthen upwards ; and soon the wood-
man was rejoiced to behold the head and shoulders of his young
friend Edward.

" How is it, lad ? Ned, I say, speak ; how is it, lad ?"

^^ He has got a child in his arms," said one of the crowd ;
" and he clutches it close, too ; but he looks mortal pale !"

" Lay him down gently, lads," said Matthew ; " one of you
hold him on your knee, and rub him well ; the cold has caught
him ; but he'll come too. Carry him, some of you, to my cottage
yonder, and make a fire of anything you can find ; take the door,
or the shutter, and bum that, if you can find nothing else.
Who has got the child ?"

Rebecca, with the instinct of woman, had taken the child in
her arms, and pressed it closely to her bosom. The sight of the
little thing, apparently dead, awoke in her remembrances of
other times, and suddenly soothed her frantic violence into
melancholy. Tears fell fast from her eyes, as she clasped its
little limbs, and, with a mother's habit, handled it tenderly and
fondly. The moon, which now shone out clear and bright, re-
vealed her features, lately convulsed with the fury of a maniac,
now melting with compassion for the helpless innocent in her
arms. She essayed to speak ; but a tide of recollections came
over her, and she burst into a passionate flood of tears I Pre*
sently she raised her voice in mournful lamentation :— >*

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 57

" It is dead T she said, wailingly ; " it is dead I All that is
beautiful, and young, and good, perishes and dies; evil only
remains in the world ; all is blight and misery P

In the meantime, while his companions were listening over
and over again to Matthew's account of the fall of the strange
woman and the child into the pit. Black Will went back to Ihe
spot where the bearers of Lord Sarum had left him, when, in
their panic fear they let fall the hurdle on which he was bound.

"Lord Sanira," he began, "you know me, and you know
that your life is in my power."

Lord Sarum made no answer.

" You know, too, what bitter wrongs I have to avenge ; but it
is not this way that I would do it ; it is not by a murder in cold
blood that I would right myself; and a death so dreadful as
ihey would inflict on you — it is too horrible T

Lord Sarum groaned in anguish.

"I, too, know you. Lord Sarum," continued Will; "and I
know that if you make a solemn promise, you will not break
your word. I can trust you, though they," pointing to the
group at a little distance, "cannot. Give me your word of
honour. Lord Augustus, that you will never breathe to living
being what you have witnessed in the bam this night, and I will
set you free."

Lord Sarum hesitated. —

" There is no time to deliberate ; it must be your death, or
your word of honour."

« I give it."

" And now," said Will, as be untied the knots which bound the

«

young nobleman to the hurdle, I advise you at once to make off
in the direction of that little mound ; keep that between you and
the pit, so that you may not be seen. There is only one knot
more, but the cold benumbs my hands ; help yourself, my lord ; I
think the men miss me, and are looking about them. While they
are engaged about the woman that has been lost in the pit,
you will have time to escape. We have saved the young lad and
the child."

" Child ! — ^woman I-— what child and what woman ? What do
you mean ?"

" You had better not wait to hear the story ; you are only
losing time. Old Matthew, the woodman, and young Ned
Lacey — Gentleman Ned, as we call him-^— were looking out for

68 FANNY;. THE LITTLE MILLINER:

some one they were expecting, when they saw a woman with a
child tramping through the snow till she came to the edge of the
pit, when she slipped in; and Ned would be let down to
seek after them, while the old man held the other end of the
rope ; and we were just in time, for Matthew says he could not
have held on another minute ; and the brave lad has saved the
child : but the woman being heavier, I suppose was the reason,
has gone to the bottom. And now, my lord, the last knot's
loosed, and I advise you to make off while you can. No love for
you — ^you'll excuse me for saying so, my lord, — but I cannot see
a man murdered in cold blood. And do not forget that I trust to
your word of honour."

But to the astonishment of Black Will, the young lord, instead
of seeking safety by immediate flight, strode on with all his
strength to the place where the crowd of his enemies was as-
sembled at the edge of the pit Will followed, and kept pace
with him with difficulty, wondering what could induce the young
nobleman to commit such an act of folly as voluntarily to place
himself again in the power of the conspirators, and at a spot
so convenient for sudden vengeance.

While Lord Sarum was hastening to the mouth of the pit, the
group around was busily engaged, amidst much curiosity and
agitation, in devising means for descending into the pit in search
of the woman, the mother of the child.

" What's this ?" said one of the men, stooping down, and
picking up a small gold cross of a peculiar make — " what's this.
Mat ? Has this anything to do with the woman ?"

Matthew took the cross in his hand ; turned it over, and exa-
mined it ; then it was passed from hand to hand through the
crowd ; but although the cross was evidently gold, from its weight,
and almost every one of its examiners was in dismal want,
not one of them thought of furtively appropriating it to himself.
It was returned to the hands of Matthew.

" And now," said the honest woodman, who had begun to
recover his presence of mind, and to resume the quiet energy of
his character, " what's to be done about the woman ?"

As Matthew uttered these words. Lord Sarum nished in upon
the party, with greater wildness in his look than had possessed
him in the extremity of his recent peril ; and in a voice of autho-
rity and energetic passion, which subdued the minds of the
multitude^ called out aloud, '^ Where is the child ?-* and who was

OR, THE RICH AND THE FOOR. 59

the woman that you talk of? Speak, one of you I What do you
know of this woman ? Where is the man who saw them fall ?"

'^ It was old Matthew who saw it," said several at once, taken
by surprise by the suddenness of Lord Sarum's appearance,
and struck with amazement at his release from his bonds, and his
apparent disregard of the consequences of placing himself again in
their power. " It was old Matthew — this is the man."

Lord Sarum advanced towards the woodman, who was holding
in his hand the golden cross, on which the beams of the moon
fell brightly.

** The child," said Matthew, "is in the arms of yon woman;
and this, my lord," for he immediately recognised Lord Sarum,
whom he had known from his infancy, — " this cross, which was
found at the edge of the pit, may help you to find out who is the
mother."

Lord Sarum snatched the cross from the old man's hand;
clasped it between his hands convulsively, as if fearful to con-
firm the terrible truth which flashed on him ; and then, with a
sort of desperate resolution, held it up towards the moon, and
fixed on it a long and earnest gaze. The well-known and long-
cherished name of '* Francesca" met his eye, and his whole frame
shook with the most violent emotion. The cross fell from his
hands ; he rushed to the edge of the pit, as if about to precipitate
himself into its abyss.

^' Hold him back, lads, called out Matthew ; hold him back, or
he will be in. The man is beside himself; hold him back, lads,
or he will be down the pit ;" and the same men who a short
time before had been most clamorous for his death, were now
most resolute in holding back the young lord from the death
which they themselves would have ruthlessly inflicted, — so
strange, so changeful, so mysterious, are the human passions !

" My God ! my God I" he exclaimed, in accents of the most
piercing grief; ** it cannot be true ! Such a death as this ! — so
sudden and so terrible I Men I " he cried — " for men you are,
and you must have human feelings, — there is a woman lying in
the bottom of this pit, — ^perhaps dead I — Oh God I — but perhaps
alive ; — and if alive, what must be her state ! Lend me your
help — rouse yourselves up — you are Englishmen, and have
English hearts ; this woman must be saved ! Trust to me —
trust to the honour of Lord Sarum, who never broke his word, to
reward you. Forget the past ; — I forget it ; — I swear to you, that

60 FANNYj THE LITTLE MILLINER:

it shall for ever be a secret to all the world. Work hard^ my
men, work hard ; and your diligence to do good shall be full
atonement for the crime you meditated, but from which God has
spared you. Let one of you instantly make his way to the
castle ; say I am here, tell them what has happened, and bid
them bring all the help they can — horses, ropes, spades, shovels
— and let every man come. Run, my man; every minute you
gain is a purse of gold for you. Now, who can go quickest
to the village ?"

" That can I," said a tall man, whose long legs gave promise
of rapidity of locomotion : "I know what's wanted."

" Where is the nearest cottage to take the child to ?"

" Matthew's is the nearest ; but Dame Lacey's is the best — only
she is ill."

" But my dame's with her," said Matthew; " and it's better the
child should go where there's a female to take care of her."

Lord Sarum approached Rebecca, who exhibited no sign of
her late insane ferocity, but kindly tendered the child to his in-
spection. He gazed on it; felt its little face; kissed it; and
taking a warm handkerchief from his neck, wrapped it round its
body.

Rebecca looked pleased at this ; and the rude crowd mur-
mured a sympathetic sound of approbation.

"There is warmth in it," he said; "make haste, my good
woman to the cottage ; I will reward you well ; — but I must stay
here. Is the woman to be trusted ?" he asked, as Rebecca moved
away towards the cottage of young Lacey's mother.

"Ay, ay," replied old Matthew: "she has terrible fits
sometimes ; but when there's a child in the case, she remembers
her own children — though she has lost 'em all, poor thing — and
the thought of them make^ her wits wander : — But the sight of
a young child makes her feel like a mother again."

Lord Sarum followed her with his eyes till her form was lost
in the distance, and then resumed his position of silent despair
by the edge of the pit. For some time, he stood apart and
alone ; the crowd of labourers having retired, in respect for real
grief, the signs of which are not to be mistaken ; though they
wondered why the young lord should exhibit such excess of emo-^
tion at the death, probable and frightful as it was, of a mere
stranger. At last old Matthew approached.

" It will take some hours," he said> " before the windlass and

OR, TUE RICH AND TUB POOR. 61

ropes can be got for us to go down into tlic pit ; that is, if it's
safe to go down at all ?"

*^ Why not safe ? " said Lord Sariim, sharply ; " I will go down
myself."

" It's the foul air, my lord, that I mean. We all know some-
thing of mines in this country ; and an old mine like this can*t
be safe, I fear ; l)ut we will try ; though it's more than we can
hope to find the poor thing alive ; still it's our duty to do our
best."

Lord Sarnm cast his eyes down, and sought to penetrate into
the dark depths of the abyss. He shuddered : — He could not dare
to hope that any human being could survive a fall from a height
so fearful.

*^ Take care, my lord, the edge is slippery. If I might make
bold, I would ask your lordship to come and warm yourself in my
hut ; you may just see it yonder. It's but a poor place ; but it is
better than staying out in the cold."

** I don't feel the cold ; they will be back from the castle pre-
sently ; I will stay here. What is the length of that rope ?"

" That rope is of no use for the purpose, if you are thinking of
that Young Ned's work has finished it for this time."

*^ True," said the young nobleman, " true ; I must not forget
to do justice : I ought to see how that brave young fellow gels
on. Come, my man, I will go with you. How long have the
messengers been gone to the castle and the village ?"

" Not more than half-an-hour ; and it must take them some
hours to get back."

*^Only half-an-hour!" repeated Lord Sarum, pressing his
hands to his forehead ; " only half-an-hour ! I thought it had
been longer : but the cold affects my head, I believe. That
brave young fellow — where is he ?"

" In my hut, my lord, over away yonder."

"True, true; I had forgotten. Yes; I should like to see
him, — it is my duty to see him. And the child ? Yes ; I
remember. Lend me your arm, old man — only you. Come,
we will see how the preserver of the child gets on."

He was glad to find the young man almost recovered from the
effects of his courageous effort. Edward expressed his desire to
assist in recovering the body of the child's mother ; but this
Lord Sarum positively forbade.

'* You have done enough for one night, my young friend ; the

62 FANNY^ THE LITTLE MILLINER:

best thing that you can do is to get your supper, and take some-
thing to counteract the effects of the cold. What have you got
in the house ? I do not suppose you have spirits or wine ; but
you might warm some beer, or make some tea; something to
put warmth in the lad."

Matthew shook his head at this suggestion, and reaching
his hand to a shelf by the side of the fireplace, he took down the
remains of a coarse loaf, which he placed on the table ; then
filling a horn cup with water from a brown jug, which stood in
a corner, he invited Edward to refresh himself.

*' Is this the best fare that you can give him, my old fi*iend ?"
said Lord Sarum to Matthew. " A poor supper after such an
exploit !"

" It is the best that such as we can furnish," replied the wood-
man ; " and glad enough are we to get this," said he, placing his
hand on the brown bread ; " and thankful I am for it, for there
are many now out of work who would be glad to have this bit
of bread for their starving children."

The young nobleman was penetrated with the quiet air of
resignation with which the old man uttered these few words;
and, notwithstanding the powerful emotions of grief, of hope,
and of fear with which he was himself overwhelmed at the
terrible adventures of the night, he could not refrain from
regarding with a sort of admiration the specimen of humble and
virtuous content which stood before him.

" You were the man who held the rope, while my young
friend here hazarded his life to save the — the — sufferers ?"

« I was."

" And you, my young friend, you deserve some reward for
your heroic action. You have certainly saved one life ; and I
hope that the recompence which you have secured," he added,
taking out his purse, and proffering some bank-notes to Edward,
" will stimulate you to deserve still more the character which
you have gained this night for good feeling and for courage."

The young peasant started up at these words; his face,
which before was pale, now suddenly grew crimson, and his
eyes became moistened with tears of outraged feeling.

" I did not try to save the child for money," he said ; " and it
is not money that will repay me. You would not have offered
money to one of your own class," my lord ; " but you think, I
suppose, that because I am poor, I have not the feelings nor the

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 63

pride of a man ; and that I may be paid for saving a life as
for so much labour done for hire. But you are mistaken^ my
lord ; it is not for your money that I would risk my life to save
another's. I did it, because it would have been unmanly and
base not to do it. Be so good, my lord, as to put your money
back again ; to offer it to mc is to insult me. I am a man, my
lord, though a poor one !"

" I did not think of hurting your feelings, my young friend,"
replied the nobleman, " by oflfering you money ; but I will not
put it back. Here, my good man,*' offering the bank-notes to
Matthew, ^^ do you take it ; you cannot have the same scruples.
This money will do you good, and help you to a better supper
than dry bread and water, on a winter's night."

"Me take money for holding young Ned up by the rope !" ex-
claimed the woodman, firmly, but good-humouredly. ")jV^ell,
that beats everything I What would my dame say to that ? *^o,
no. But it's very kind of you, my lord, very ; and it's wrong to
say that the great folks don't care for the poor. But we don't
like to be paid for doing good to one another. You don't under-
stand us, my lord. We like to be paid well for our labour ;
that's just ; but take money for not letting go when Ned was
hanging to t'other end of the rope 1 — God bless you. Lord
Augustus, we're made of better stuff than that ! There isn't a
labouring man in all the north country would sell himself that
way. The dry crust that the poor man earns by his labour is
pleasanter than all the dainties that money could buy him, got
that way."

" What ! will you not take the money which I freely offer to
you?"

*^ No— indeed I wont; nor Ned neither. What we have
done, we have done because it was right ; and money would
spoil the sweet thoughts of it ; wouldn't it, Ned ?"

*' I would starve and rot," said Edward, with energy, " before
I would accept payment for saving a man's life !"

" Shew me the way," said Lord Sarum to Edward, " to your
mother's cottage."

The short conversation in the woodman's hut made a power-
ful impression on the young nobleman, whose mind was at-
tuned by suffering to wholesome reflection. He followed the
young peasant in silence, revolving in his mind the fearful events
of the last few days, and dwelling with new and awakened

.»..» •

64 FANNTi THE LITTLE MILLINER:

feelings on the generous devotion of the rustic inhabitants of the
moor. " Are these the men," he said to himself, *• on whom we are
accustomed to look down as on creatures inferior to us ? And
is it such noble hearts as these that we despise and neglect ?
Truly, it is not high birth nor fortune that confers real rank.
Here is nature's true nobility I In this humble hut — in all this
wretchedness of poverty — the natural dignity of man reveals
itself the brighter from the contrast I feel that I have neglected
these poor people, whom it was my duty to foster and protect,
and have thought only of myself. — But there is a lesson, perhaps,
in this night's suffering ! — I will profit by it ; I will not forget
that I have duties to perform ; and that rank and fortune impose
only the greater responsibilities on their possessors."

" This is our cottage," said Edward.

Lord Sarum paused for a few moments at the threshold. His
mind was agitated by many thoughts. — Was this his child?
Could he doubt it ? Was not the golden cross, which had been
found at the edge of the. fatal pit, evidence of the fact? But it
was possible that it might not be his child. How could he be sure
of it? But, at any rate, he would take care of it, and provide
for it, until he had the opportunity of making inquiries in Italy ;
or perhaps the dress of the child might assist in clearing up the
mystery? But the cross — the cross! — the name engraved on it !
Could there be any doubt ? Yes ; it must be his child ! " Poor
little Fanny I" he mentally ejaculated, ^* this is a sad beginning of
your infant life !"

Could the noble father of that child have looked into futurity,
and have foreseen all the adventures and trials to which little
Fanny was to be exposed, he would have regarded the recent
danger from which she had, almost miraculously, escaped, as the
least of her many perils !

OR, THE BICU AND THE POOR. 66

CHAPTER VIIL

NATUBE STBONQBB THAN FASHION. — THE FATHER BETRAYS HTM8ELF.-*
WANDEBINO WITS HAVE OFTEN SHABP £T£S.

In the meantime, the child which had been rescued from a ter-
rible death by the brave daring of the young labourer, had been
borne by Rebecca to the cottage of Edward's mother. There it
received the assiduous attention 'of Matthew's wife, assisted by
the judicious directions of Mrs. Lacey ; but it was not until after
the expiration of a considerable time that it began to exhibit
any sign of returning animation. Rebecca, in whose changed
and subdued demeanor could hardly be recognised the recent
furious instigator to Lord Sarum's murder, watched by its side
in an attitude of fixed attention. Presently she looked at Mar-
garet, and essayed to speak ; but the thought of the moment
when she gazed, for the last time, on the little face of her own
child, prematurely killed by disease and want —the inevitable
consequence, as some political economists affirm, of over-produc-
tion and over-population— stifled her voice ; and, with a choking
in the throat, from the mingled (emotions of the rekindling of her
own bittier grief, and of the instinctive gladness which is felt at
seeing despaired-for life restored,' she pointed with her finger to
the bed on which the child was lying : —

" Bless me !" exclaimed Margaret, as the child opened wide
its large black eyes, and seemed to seek for the beloved features
which they were accustomed to rest on — " what a beautiful little
thing I Did any one ever see such a lovely creature ! Why
it's for all the world like one of the little angels that you see
painted in a picture— ronly angels' eyes are blue — Fm sure I don't
know why — and this little thing's eyes are as black as coals ! — I
wonder if it can speak ! — it can't be more than eighteen months
old ; and what beautiful black hair — such jetty locks ! Gracious
me ! I wonder whose child it is, and where it comes from ? — Poor
little soul I" continued the good-natured dame, as she caressed
the child kindly, and rubbed its limbs with her hands — " to lose
its mother in such a dreadful way ! I suppose, Becky, the poor

F

66 FAHNT, THE UTTLB KILUNER:

woman must be stone-dead at the bottom of the pit ? It quite
frightens one to think of it T

" Better be dead," replied Rebecca, ** and lie in the deepest
pit that ever was digged by man, than live to suffer all the misery
of this wretched world ! Poor child ! who knows if it has been a
real mercy to save its life ? What is life worth passed in continual
pain and want — never knowing this day whether you shall get
the next day's bread I "

** That's always your way, Becky ; always groaning and com-
plaining ; but who knows what this child may come to ? It must
have had a father, I suppose ; and, by the look of its clothes, I'm
sure it's not a poor person's child ; I wonder what its name is ?
Goodness gracious ! I wish some one would come in, and tell us
all about it. Who's that at the door ?" As she said this, Lord
Sarum, followed by Edward, entered the cottage.

The young nobleman endeavoured to assume an air of calm-
ness, as he returned the respectful greeting of Edward's mother,
who, propped up by pillows in a rustic easy chair, endeavoured
to rise on his entrance. But at that moment the cry of a child
was heard from the inner room ; the little sufferer, who had re-*
covered sufficiently to distinguish objects, was frightened at the
rude garments and earnest gaze of the half-clad Rebecca, nor
was it reassured by the strange features of the homely Mai^aret.
It turned its eyes anxiously from side to side, and, missing the
presence of its parent, repeated its plaintive cry of fear. There
was something in that cry which went to Lord Sarum's heart ;
in spite of the artificial restraint which the members of the aristo-
cratic class are accustomed to impose on all outward exhibition
of feeling, the imploring claim as it seemed to him for protec-
tion, upset his habitual caution; — nature was too strong for
fashion ; and, with a nervous tremulousness which he could not
disguise, he stepped into the inner room.

The child, at his appearance, ceased its cries ; and, as if it re-
cognised, in his mild and gentle features, one of the class to
which its infancy had been accustomed, it smiled, and held out
to him its little arms. It was impossible for Lord Sarum to resist
this mute appeal ; he clasped the child fondly to his heart, which,
as if pleased to have found a protector, nestled itself in his
bosom.

** Lord love its little face 1 " exclaimed the good-humoured
Margaret, the urgent necessity for giving vent to her feelings in

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 67

words overcoming her awe of the presence of a lord ; " did you
ever see the like of that, Becky ? Bless the little dearl it cuddles
up to his lordship as if he was its daddy 1*'

Lord Sanim made a sudden start at this unsophisticated re-
mark of the worthy dame, and hastily replaced it in Margaret's
arms.

^^ And how was the little thing saved?'' said Margaret, turning
to Edward ; — " didn't it fall right into the pit with its mother?"

^* The child was light," replied the young labourer, " and it
lodged in the snow on a little ledge just enough for it to rest
on; the least motion would have made it fall off, but the
8Q0W was just enough support to keep it where it was, for the
woman, who fell down first, jammed the snow up against the
ledge as she fell, and that, I think, saved the child."

" Goodness gracious, how curious 1 — But you're a brave young
fellow, Ned — that's what you are."

In the meantime, fresh wood had been thrown on the fire, and
by the light of the flame the soiled and torn garments of the young
nobleman became visible to the inhabitants of the cottage. The
loquacious Margaret, who had known him from childhood, did
not scruple to express her wonder at his dilapidated appearance.

" Bless me I Lord Augustus, what has happened to your
clothes I I declare, they look as if they had been torn off your
back! There's the child crying again; take it out of the bed,
Becky, and bring it in here ; I dare say the heat of the fire
won't harm it now. It 's never right to go near the fire when
you are very cold, and especially when you are frozen, for that
always makes the limb drop off; but the best thing to do, is to
rub the part with snow till it comes to, and the blood circulates ;
isn't it, Mrs. Lacey ? Goodness me ! what a fancy the child has
taken for Lord Augustus ; it 's your lordship's gold chain that
it's after."

Lord Sarum took the gold chain from his own neck and
placed it round that of the child.

** Well, to be sure 1 no wonder children are fond of you, my
lord, when you humour them so. What a beautiful chain ; and
a gold one too ; and a seal at the end of it 1 May I be so bold
as to ask if your lordship knows who were the child's father and
mother?"

This simple question seemed to produce considerable embar-
rassment in the young nobleman ; leaning his head on his hand,

F 2

68 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER!

he endeavoured to concentrate his attention on the probabilities
of this child being really the true one ; and on the question of
the certainty of the unfortunate woman who had lost her life in
the pit being his Francesca. He rapidly revolved all the cir-
cumstances. The strange course of events through which the
child's life had been preserved struck him powerfully ; had not
the labourers at the meeting in the barn resolved on his death,
and endeavoured to put their threat into execution, Matthew,
the woodman, would not have been succoured, and the child
would not have been saved 1 From an attempted murder, two
lives were preserved ! — His thoughts wandered to the supersti-
tious idea of the common people, that the pit was accursed and
haunted, and that there was a fatality about it in which the
destiny of his family was involved; — but such idle fancies, for-
gotten since childhood, arose only like the phantasmagoria of a
troubled brain, and were dismissed as soon as formed. — He bent
his faculties to the consideration of the question of the child. —
All the probability was in its favour, but there was not certainty;
and the difficulties in which he should involve himself, and the
false position in which he should place the child, if he made a
mistake as to its identity, presented themselves forcibly to his
mind. — If this is my child, he reasoned with himself, and if it
is indeed Francesca who has lost her life, in a manner too hor-
rible to contemplate — and as the image of her mangled remains
arose to his imagination, he shuddered with a convulsive agita-
tion, which attracted the attention of those who were respect-
fully observing him — if this is my child, she has, by birth,
(should no son be bom,) a claim to vast possessions ; — she is a
baroness in her own right ; she is already, in the eye of the law,
a personage of importance, with hereditary rights and privileges.
But if she is not the true child ; — then, if I hastily and indis-
creetly proclaim her as such, I am creating difficulties to the
legal acknowledgment of my own child. — What is to be done ?
My heart yearns to acknowledge her, but my reason forbids a
rash conclusion. Perhaps the discovery of the remains of my
poor Francesca may clear up all doubt In the meantime, it
can do no prejudice to the true child, if I provide for this,
though a stranger to me ; and should it prove to be my own,
then the money is bestowed doubly well. — While he pondered
over these thoughts, the silence was suddenly broken by the
impatient Margaret, who, bursting with curiosity, and unable to

OR^ TUE RICU AND THE POOR. G9

comprehend why such a simple question should occasion so
much disturbance in Lord Sarum^ repeated it with variations: —

^^ The poor child must have had a father^ my lord : as to its
mother, poor thing, there cannot be any hope of her now, I sec
your lordship feels it — a kind-hearted young nobleman as you
are — and always was, for the matter of that — but as to the
father, Lord Augustus ; don't you think we ought to try and
find out its father? It's so dreadful for such a little thing to be
without a father or mother ! Don't you think so, Lord Augus-
tus? If it was a boy it wouldn't be so bad; but, gracious bless
us ! what can a girl do in the world without any parents, and
with no one to help her! And she is not a poor person's child;
you may tell that by her clothes. I 've looked all over 'em, but
there's no mark on any of 'em to show what her name is; and
they're more like a foreigner's clothes than an English child's,
to my thinking. But, of course, the child has a father, and be
couldn't be such a brute as to desert her."

" There's many a great gentleman's child has been deserted
before now, Margaret," observed Rebecca; "and more's the
shame ; for when they grow up they don't know what to think
of themselves; they're neither common folks, nor gentlefolks.
They can't grub with their hands, like a poor woman bred and
bom; and they can't be ladies, without money and without
friends; and so they're just nothing, and nothing but misery is
their portion."

" It's very dreadful to think on," said dame Margaret, shaking
her head from side to side, with a sympathizing expression.

" Of all the dreadful conditions in life, high or low," con-
tinued Rebecca, warming in her talk, " there is none so miser-
able as that of a young woman without property or friends ; I
mean a young woman who has not been brought up to earn her
bread by the work of her hands — and that lot is bad enough.
Heaven knows! But look at a young woman who has been
deUcately bred, perhaps; how is she to get her living? She
can't work in the fields ; she isn't fit for that : she can't go as a
servant ; her pride chokes her when she thinks of that. What
can she do, then ? Earn her bread by her needle ? Scanty is the
fare that a poor woman can earn that way ! That is the worst life
of all; and then what is to become of her? If she goes wrong,
the whole world of selfish hypocrites, who would not give her
a morsel of bread to save her from starving, set up their tongues

70 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

against her ! A cheap way that of showing how virtuous you
are yourself, by crying out against the killings off of others."

" It 's very dreadful," repeated the sympathizing Margaret,
though not quite sure that she understood all the eloquence of
the voluble Rebecca; "but there's no need to think that this
poor child's father is dead as well as its mother; and I can't be-
lieve that a man can be such a wretch as to desert his own child
— ^if so be it is his own ; though I know, among the great folks,
they can't always be sure where there's such a visiting and a
junketing, and all working after their pleasure as if they were
mad ! No wonder fine ladies have vertigoes in their heads, and
make mistakes sometimes, poor things I in the confusion —
hurrying and scurrying about so I But, in course, as this child
must have had a father, it's the father's duty to provide for it —
that's what I say; and I'm sure Lord Augustus, with his good
heart, must think so too."

" Certainly, my good dame," said the young nobleman, who
had made up his mind as to the course he intended to pursue ;
" certainly, but as there may be some diflSculty, or some delay,
at least, in ascertaining who — that is to say, in ascertaining the
fact, I shall request Mrs. Lacey here to take charge of a sum of
money for the support of the child, till something conclusive
can be known. You will be pleased to apply this," he continued,
placing a sum of money in Mrs. Lacey's hands, " for the benefit
of the child, in the way that you may think best ; and perhaps I
may trouble you with some directions or advice on the subject ;
but on that point I can speak some other time. My head aches
dreadfully ; I will talk to you some other time."

" What is the amount of this money, my lord ?" asked Ed-
ward's mother.

" I don't know exactly ; it don't matter at present. Put it
up, and take care of it : I have not made up my mind what to
do — that is, what is best to be done."

" Your lordship has a good kind heart of your own," inter-
posed the delighted Margaret — " that's certain. Ah I Lord
Augustus, if all the rich were like you, the poor would not com-
plain as much as they do. But they feel, more than the want of
money, the want of the kind word and the firiendly smile of
those above them, — that's what it is, Lord Augustus. A pleasant
word is sweeter to the poor man than the churlish gift — isn't it>
Becky ?"

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 71

Rebecca, who had remained with her arms crossed and her
looks alternately wandering from Lord Sarum to the child, re-
garded, with an air of penetrating and intelligent curiosity, the
liberality of the young lord, and his evident anxiety about an
infant, which, it was to be presumed, he had never seen before.
She made no reply to the observation of the loquacious Margaret,
but fixing an inquisitive and earnest look on Lord Sarum, she
pointed towards the direction of the pit, and said slowly, and
solemnly — " There is more work to be done before the business
of this night is over. I can hear the voices of many men in the
distance ; the help has arrived, and the pit can now be searched ;
and then the body of the unknown woman " — and as she said this
she fixed her eyes steadily on the young nobleman — " may per-
haps be found!"

Lord Sarum started up from his seat, kissed the child tenderly,
and lefl the cottage.

Rebecca smiled grimly at this exhibition of an excess of
tenderness unusual with men towards strange infants: she
mused for a moment, as if struck with some sudden thought ; —
and then silently followed Lord Sarum and Edward to the mouth
of the haunted pit.

72 FANNV, THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

CHAPTER IX.

THE LANDLADY OF TUB WHITE BULL. — THE VILLAGE IN A FERMENT. —

NEWS OF THE SOLDIEBS. — THE TBOOFEB.

The directions of Lord Sarum were promptly obeyed at the
castle. The excitement of the household was intense, and the
whole of the establishment capable of rendering assistance, re-
paired with all haste to the scene of the disaster. All the pro-
visions at hand, with a plentiful supply of wine and spirits, and
a conspicuous cask of ale in a cart, were hastily despatched for
the refreshment of those collected at the pit. At the same time
the news of some terrible accident was spread rapidly through the
village in which the hostelry of the White Bull held distinguished
station ; and the report of the interest which the heir of the
House of Grandborough took in the rescue of the sufferers
added increased zeal to the activity of the population. The
ostler was roused to intense agitation by the news of the
abandonment of his horses near the moor, and the landlady's in-
terest in the fate of the unfortunate woman was increased by her
anxiety for the safety of her chaise stuck fast in the snow.
Summoning her master of the horse, she sat down within the
bar to solace herself with a glass of ale with a toast in it, ming-
ling her lamentations for the death of the stranger in the pit
with injunctions to the ostler after his cattle. Even the cowboy,
at this time of general excitement, when the services of all the
male inhabitants within her influence were called into active re-
quisition, became a person of importance.

" What do you stick there for, with your mouth open, jack-
anapes ?" she called out to that much-enduring individual, who
was standing in a state of the most extraordinary bewilderment,
the natural confusion of his intellects being aggravated by the
general confusion of things around him — " why don't you go
and help to get the poor creatures out of the pit, and the poor
horses. Heaven knows where ! How many," to the messenger
who brought the information, " do you say there were who fell
in ?"

" Can't say> for surcj how many ; only the young lord is ramp*

OB, THE RICH AND TUB POOIU 73

aging mad by the side of the pit, and it took all of us together to
prevent him from throwing himself in, he was so eager after the
woman."

^' Merciful Powers ! the young lord going to jump down the
pit ! Bob 1 " to the ostler, and raising her voice as she set down
the untasted glass of ale, "clap a saddle on one of the horses —
an old one will do — and get away with you as quick as you can ;
and take the boy with you on another, that he may come back
quick and tell me the news ; he don't want a saddle — no need to
risk harness when it's not wanted ; and go to Lord Augustus as
fast as you can, and say that all the village is coming to help,
and give my duty to him, and remember to say that I have
waked up every creature— and don't forget the horses left on the
moor. Gracious goodness I perhaps they will fall down the pit,
too, and that would be a job, indeed !"

" Ay, ay. Missus, leave me alone to look after 'em : I
thought no good would come of getting out the poor beasts, tired
as they were, and with only half a feed — oats does no good to a
horse, bolted that way — and taking 'cm over that horrid cross-
road, that's neither flt for horse nor Christian to drag a chaise
through. Come along, lad; and keep your mouth shut — do
for once ; and don't sprawl over the creatur's galled withers that
way" — as the boy hastily scrambled on a post-horse ; " how
would you like it yourself?"

With these professional observations the aged ostler set off on
his errand, followed by his lieutenant.

The worthy landlady again betook herself to her glass of ale,
and was in the act of putting it to her lips, when a mounted
trooper dashed up to the door ; the unfrosted foam which covered
his horse, notwithstanding the coldness of the night, indicating
the speed to which he had been put The hurried air of the
soldier, as he hastily dismounted, awakened fresh curiosity ; and
the clanking of his broadsword on the stone-step of the door
roused the attention of the landlady. She replaced her untasted
glass as he entered, and eagerly asked —

" What's the news now ? What are the soldiers come back for ?
I thought they were on the other side of the country by this
time."

" News 1" said the trooper ; " news enough for one night ;
i)ut duty first and news afterwards. First let me see to my
horse, ma'am, if you please — duty, ma'am — duty before every-

74 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

thing ; his horse, ma'am, is a soldier's firiend ; his companion,
ma'am — his bedfellow. Now, old Squarcnose, let us look to your
supper ; — horse first, rider afterwards — that's the maxim, ma'am,
of our regiment"

^* And now, ma'am," said the trooper, when he had seen
his steed comfortably disposed, " with your leave, I will try to
thaw myself by your fire ; night very cold, ma'am, but the moon
bright"

^* In the name of goodness," said the landlady, whose curiosity
was roused to a painful pitch, ** what is the matter-^no more
riots, I hope ?"

" Riots enough, ma'am ; we shall have rough work, I expect,
before the night is over. But, upon my soul, I'm quite done up —
not with riding, ma'am, that's impossible ; but it's my spirits,
ma'am — my spirits ! my anxiety for the good of the service ; it's
like the sword, ma'am, that wears out the scabbard. But you,
ma'am," casting an affectionate look at the bright pewter mug of
ale, which had been prepared with sundry curious condiments, for
the especial refection of the landlady, " you always look well ;
but, upon my soul, for once, I'm quite done up, exhausted, and
dried up, as a man may say ; I don't think I have strength in me
to say one word — and such a dreadful affair I "

" Try this," said the landlady, proffering to the possessor of
the dreadful news her own private mug ; " if this ale won't restore
a man, nothing will ; there's not such ale as this in the whole
county."

** Ma'am, your very good health ;— capital stuff; — capital stuff,
certainly ; but the toast takes up a good deal of room," he added,
as he tried to squeeze out a few more drops of the generous
liquor; *^ do you know, ma'am, I always think a toast in the
pot, when you're thirsty, spoils the draught"

" It was for myself — that toast," said the landlady, with half a
sigh, and with an air which was intended to express her general
repudiation of all strong liquors ; — ^* I drink so little — only a
trifling sip now and then ; but, as you say, such ale as this is
meat and drink, both. Try it plain."

" Thank you, ma'am, by all means, if you wish it," replied
the trooper, making a gallant salute, intended at once for the
dispenser of the drink, and in honour of the foaming mug of ale ;
^^ A man must take something to keep up the stamina ; as I was
saying, we shall have rough work yet before the morning."

OB, THE BICH AND THB POOB. 76

*^ You don't say so I What, are the rioters out again ? More
burning ?"

^* Burning enough, I'm thinking. Haven't you heard yet of
Grandborough Castle, and young Lord Sarum?"

'^ Grandborough Castle, and Lord Sarum ! — I^rd Augustus I —
Gracious Heavens I what about him ? Why the young lord was
here only a few hours ago."

" We are here," replied the trooper, as our parson says, " and,
in the biting of a cartridge, we arc there 1 Life, ma'am — life, as
our parson says, life is like — it was only last Christmas that I
heard him preach his sermon to the troop, poor fellows ! life
says the parson, is like — in short, ma'am, our parson is the best
parson of any regiment in the service ; and the jolly old cock

loves a bottle and a but that's neither here nor there.

What I say is this : life wants a stimulus, especially such a cold
night as this, when I have ridden more than twenty miles as hard
as old Square-nose could carry me.

The excellent landlady, who had some experience of the ways
of his majesty's troops, took the hint immediately: —

" Shall I make it gin or brandy ? *'

" Brandy, ma'am, by all means ; gin is all very well for the
fellows that carry the firelocks ; but for a gentleman in one of
his majesty's troops of horse, brandy is the real thing. Pray
don't put any water to it, my dear ma'am; Til drink it first
without, that I may taste the flavour, which," he added, as he
tilted the contents of the glass in trooper-like fashion down his
throat, ** seems really good ; very good ; but, upon my soul, I
drank it in such a hurry, I can't say that I felt the real taste of
it Sharp's the word, ma'am, with a soldier ; no time to lose — ^it
all belongs to the king, God bless him. But as I was saying,
this poor fellow. Lord Sarum — did you say another glass, ma'am?
Certainly, I would not pay you so bad a compliment, ma'am, as
to suppose that your excellent brandy could not be drunk a
second time. This poor fellow, Lord Sarum "

" Goodness gracious ! for the love of Heaven, man, drink the
brandy ; but tell me what has happened to Lord Augustus ?"

" Why the rioters have burned down Grandborough Castle,
and thrown Lord Sarum into one of the old pits — that's all."

The landlady gave a scream at this astounding information,
so pithily conveyed, and showed strong indications of a faint.

" Take a glass of brandy, ma'am ; there's nothing like it in a

76 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

fit Our doctor's wife is always being threatened with fits, which
she keeps off with a glass of brandy. They say she learned the
habit from drinking the doctor's mixtures for the colonel's wife
when she's troubled with the vapours ; though they do make the
poor lady a little confused sometimes, I must say. You won't
take it ? Then, rather than it should be wasted, I will drink it
myself; your better health, ma'am ; and here's confusion to the
rascals that murdered Lord SarumI Our captain — ^he was a
schoolfellow, the men say, of Lord Sarum's — our captain's as
furious as a mad bull — only he don't show it as some people do.
No, ma'am — cool, ma'am, as — as — in short, ma'am, as there's
only one glass left in the bottle, I'll just finish it out of compli-
ment to you, ma'am. By George, and just in time, too, for I
hear the rattle of our men's harness. By St George, this cold
ride through the snow has made my head quite dizzy. Now I
suppose we shall be put to work. Damme, if I like cutting and
hacking at the poor people that look as hungry as starved
wolves. — But to fire the castle and murder the young lord — no,
by George, that's too bad I"

The cavalry at this moment drew up opposite the door, and
the trooper, with some slight internal misgivings as to the cause
of the dizziness in his head, stood forth, and, with one hand
negligently placed on the horse-trough, saluted his commander
with a military salaam, and presented a letter, which the officer
perused with considerable anxiety.

OR, TUB RICU AMD TUB POOR. 77

CHAPTER X.

DESCENT INTO THE PIT.-^THB SOLDIERS. — THE COWBOY THE MOST IMPORTANT
PERSONAGE OF THE TALE. — UNEXPRESSED THOUGHTS ON THE VALUE OP
HISTORICAL TESTIMONY.— ACCOUNTS IN THE NEWSPAPERS.

It was with great diflSculty that Lord Sarum was able to reach
the mouth of the pit, so great was his exhaustion ; but the over-
powering desire to recover at least the remains of the lost Fran-
cesca gave a fresh and last stimulus to his over-taxed strength.
Laige numbers of the labouring population had collected from
the village and from the immediate neighbourhood of the castle :
and all sorts of reports of the nature and the extent of the disaster
were rapidly spread, and eagerly swallowed. In the meantime,
the plentiful supply of refreshments was distributed among the
crowd, which elicited the most rapturous approbation for the
liberality and generosity of the heir of the House of Grand-
borough.

Lord Sarum rallied himself; and at once assumed the direc-
tion of the proceedings.

" Who,*' he asked, with a firm voice, ** volunteers to go down
the pit?"

There was a dead silence.

" Is there no man among you,** said Lord Sarum, " with
courage enough to venture? The ropes are strong, and the
windlass firm; and you must — all of you — know something of a
mine in these parts."

" That's just it," said a man from the crowd ; — ** we know that it
is almost certain death to venture into an old mine before the foul
air is blown out; it would choke a man before he could call out."

" Then I will go down alone ;" said the young nobleman ; — " I
will not ask any man to incur a danger which I am not ready to
face myself. Matthew, do you stand at the windlass, and be
captain for this time. I will go down alone."

" That indeed he shan't," exclaimed a sturdy miner, the same
who had been one of the foremost in seizing the young lord in
the bam ; " It shall never be said that a lord went down a mine
alone, and a regular miner that has been an underground captain
for as many years as he is old, stand by and not lend a hand !
I will go down with the young lord ; and maybe I shall be able
to do what he can't, for I dare say he don't know much of the

78 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

ways of it. — Now, old Mat, as you're to be captain, take this
line in your hand, and when you feel it pulled with a jerk,
stop lowering, and when you feel it pulled hard, haul up hand
over hand, and lose no time about it; for I don't expect if we do
get to the bottom that we can stay there long. Now, gentle-
man, get into the basket, and sit still; for it would be an awk-
ward job for us to sway about against the sides of the shaft But,
after all, what's the use of going down without a light ; and no
one has got a Davy here, I dare say? and the gear is but
clumsy ; but that can't be helped. Well, young gentleman, if
you will, I won't desert you ; but it's no use, I fear. Now, Mat,
lower steady and without starts, and mind you wind up sharp
when you feel the line pulled with a strain."

The moon at this time shone bright and clear; and the curious
spectators, many holding torches, gathered round the mouth of
the pit, amidst a silence the most profound, broken only by the
creaking of the windlass, as the miner and Lord Sarum were
cautiously lowered into its mysterious depths.

But the silence of the motionless crowd was suddenly broken
by a rumour, which was repeated, with various emotions of
wonder and apprehension, from mouth to mouth, that " the sol-
diers were coming." Those who were conscious of being impli-
cated in the unlawful proceedings in the barn immediately began
to disperse. Many others, fearing a fray, and their desire of
personal safety overcoming their curiosity, made the best of their
way back to their homes. Only a few remained, those princi-
pally who were attached in various ways to the castle, or whose
station placed them beyond the suspicion of being connected with
the rioters. The rumour was confirmed almost as soon as spread
by the appearance of the soldiers in the distance, ploughing their
way through the snow, and extended in military order, so as to
cut off as much as possible the retreat of the scattered multitude.
At this moment Matthew felt the rope in his hand pulled vio-
lently and continuously; and the basket containing the miner
and Lord Sarum was immediately raised to the surface, as the
captain of the troop, who was accompanied by a magistrate,
arrived at the mine. He beheld the young nobleman apparently
dead; and immediately conceiving the idea that he had been
murdered, and that it was his dead body that he beheld, he dis-
patched nearly the whole of his men to capture the runaways,
who had exposed themselves to suspicion by their flight.

*« Take care, my men," he said, " not to use your swords.

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 79

except in case of the last necessity. It is our duty to secure the
rioters, but not to harm them, if it can possibly be avoided
Secure their persons, but spare them from your weapons; for,
remember they are our countrymen, not our enemies."

Then turning his attention to Lord Sarum ; —

*' Pray heaven !" he said, " that they have not really murdered
him I Is he dead ?"

" No ; not dead, I think," said the miner, who had been less
affected, and who had been immediately restored by the fresh air ;
" You see he is a poor, delicate, weak thing, and couldn't bear the
least touch of the damp, but went off in a moment; and if old Mat
hadn't hauled up sharp, it might have been the same with me,
for the matter of that ; for it stands to reason that a pit that
hasn't been worked for so many years must be full of choke ; and
it was madness to go down at all. But the young lord would go;
and so of course I couldn't stay behind — I that have been an
under-ground captain this many a year.

" You're a fine fellow," said the officer ; " and I have no
doubt Lord Sarum will reward you for your assistance."

" Oh, that's no odds !" said the miner ; — " I didn't want any
reward ; but I should like to have work and good wages — that's
a truth."

While the above short colloquy took place, the attentive
Matthew was busy in assisting the servants of the castle in
recovering their master. Fortunately a can of water was at
hand, and the old man dashed it plenteously over his face ; —
in a short time Lord Sarum showed signs of returning anima-
tion. The experienced miner, who was watching the proceed-
ings, bade them not spare the water : —

*^ He is safe now," he said. " You see he has only had a little
taste of it. If we had been lowered ten feet more, I doubt if
you would have drawn up either of us alive. But he will be all
right in a little time."

Lord Sarum, however, though his pulse was felt to beat, and
his breathing could be distinguished, seemed to have been
struck with serious illness. Captain Makepeace recommended
that he should be immediately conveyed to the castle ; and a cart
having been quickly prepared with a thick layer of straw, he
was carried home, and no time was lost in procuring medical
assistance. He was unable to speak, and gave no sign of being
conscious of what was passing around him. In truth, the unfor-
tunate young nobleman was suffering under the re-action of the

80 FANNY, THE UTTLE MILLINER:

excitement to which he had been exposed for the last three
days ; and the bodily fatigue and mental emotion with which he
had been overwhelmed, had produced a paralysis of the system, by
which all consciousness was for a time suspended. In this alarm-
ing state a messenger was instantly dispatched to Lord Grand-
borough in London; while the medical attendant watched his
patient, and anticipated the turn of his disorder with great
anxiety. What the physician foresaw, came on with fearful
violence: fever, delirium, and incoherent ravings, showed that
the brain had received a shock from which the worst conse-
quences were to be apprehended. Gloom and melancholy
anticipations now pervaded the princely castle; while the heir to
its wide domains remained a helpless and pitiable object on that
which it was feared would be his death-bed.

In the meantime the military had succeeded in capturing a
large number of the runaways amenable to the charge of meeting
for an unlawful purpose, and of conspiring to set fire to Grand-
borough Castle. The spy who had betrayed his comrades, — ^for
on such occasions betrayal may be considered certain, — had given
ample information for the guidance of the constables to secure
most of those who had assembled in the barn ; and the punish-
ment of the law which befell them almost without exception, will
long be remembered by the wives and families of those deluded
but criminal conspirators.

All had now dispersed save three, and the moor was left almost
in its accustomed solitude ; only Edward, and Matthew, and the
cowboy, the aide-de-camp of the master of the horse at the White
Bull, remained.

" This is a sad business," said Matthew to Edward, " and, I
suspect, there has been something wrong going forward more than
we know of, from the soldiers coming down on us so sudden.
What is it, Ned?"

" Better say nothing about it, Mat ; there was a meeting to-
night, and something was to be done, but I did not know the
secret. Black Will was to lead them on ; — but — better not say
any more about it."

"But they're the same set who have had meetings before
which you were at. There will be a stir about this with the
magistrates, depend upon it ; and somehow they will get at every
man concerned in it. The law has a strong arm and a long arm,
Ned; and it never answers to go agin it You must look out
sharp for yourself, and be awake ; if there's a warrant sent out for

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOH. 81

you, they will clap you into gjiol before you know where you are,
and then to get out is another mnttcr. I don't like the looks of
things at all, Ned — I don't, indeed. They wont touch me ; I'm
not afeard of that ; but you are all for doing something you don't
know what, and you've got the gift of the gab, and that's just
what the great folks are most afeard of."

^' Why — what would you have me do ? not hide — or take
myself off?"

" I don't know whether that wouldn't be best ; but let us bide
a bit, and keep a look-out; better not do anything in a hurry.
Running away sometimes raises suspicion and gives tliem the
hint to be after you. But what has that lad there, got in his hand,
looking at? — he is gaping with his mouth open as if he had got
something to wonder at"

"It's a gold cross," said Edwanl, when he reached the ad-
miring cow-boy, who had been amusing himself with kicking up
the snow, and in so doing had turned up the golden cross which
Lord Sarum had dropped in his agitation, and which in the ge-
neral excitement and confusion had been forgotten ; " it is a gold
cross," taking it from the lad's reluctant hand, and shewing it to
Matthew ; '* Who could have dropped such a thing here ?"

'* Depend upon it," said Matthew, " this cross was dropped by
the woman who fell down the pit ; so it belongs to her child, of
course ; and it must be taken care of; for who knows but that it
may be the means of finding out who the mother was, and all
about it So you had better take care of it, Ned ; or let your
mother have it — that will be best ; — I dare say Lord Augustus
will like to examine it again, when he comes to inquire into the
business."

" Mind, lad," said Edward, to the much disappointed cowboy,
*' you gave the cross to me, and I'll be responsible for it ; and this
is Matthew the woodman ; ho lives in yonder cottage, and he will
be responsible for it, too ; and I should Jidvise you, my lad, to
shut your mouth when you have done wondering what all this is
about, or the frost may give you a chill in your inside."

Whether the finder of the ornament which is destined to per-
form so important a part in lliis eventful history, attended to the
friendly advice of the young labourer is not exactly known ; but
as he appeared the next day before his mistress with his usual
open countenance, it is conjectured that his excess of delight at
having found so attractive a prize being succeeded by his still

G

82 FANNTj THE LITTLE MILLINER:

more excessive astonishment at being so delicately relieved of the
responsibility of its possession^ produced in him a state of such
extraordinary bewilderment as to develop more remarkably than
ever on his visage that obstinate peculiarity of expression, which
as the ostler of the White Bull characteristically declared, *^ was
enough to provoke the very bosses out of their wits."

The stories and rumours which were the consequence of the
night's disasters, were many and various. Certain old women, who
were considered authorities among the humbler classes in all things
strange or seemingly supernatural, shook their heads mysteriously,
and hinted that the " White woman that haunted the pit was at
the bottom of it all I" But the public accounts of the transactions
may be best conveyed by the following extracts from the news-
papers ; their various relations and comments being coloured, of
course, by the various partialities, political and personal, in which
the different writers were pleased to indulge : —

From " THE MILK AN WATER JOURNAL."

" Oar readers will be grieved but not surprised to learn that the wicked attempts
of selfish demagogues have again excited the evil passions of the people to acts of
unlawful outrage. On Monday night last, the rural village of Sandy Flats was dis-
turbed from its peaceful slumbers by the alarming report of the conflagration of
Grandborough Castle, the family seat of the noble house to which it gives its title.
But, fortunately, the story proved to be untrue, owing to the Castle not having been
set fire to, or, which is most probable, in consequence of the dampness of the wea*
ther. But the circumstance sufficiently proves to what criminal lengths, political
hate can drive the infamous disturbers of the public peace, in their attempts to gratify
party feeling by acts of private vengeance.

'* Such disgraceful outrages are the more to be reprehended, as the labouring
population of Sandy Flats, under the benevolent care of the Earl of Grandborough,
whose powerful orations in the House of Lords on questions relating to the treat'
ment of the poor, are so justly appreciated, have the advantage of being in
constant work, except when those casualties take place which in a highly civilized
country must occasionally occur to prevent the demand for their employment. It
is due to the employers in the part of the country to which we allude, to state also,
that the wages of the labourers amount to six, seven, and in some instances even
to eight shillings a week ; a sum, which with economy and frugality, and especially
considering the present low price of potatoes and the coarser sorts of oatmeal, is
abundantly sufficient for the support of a labouring man with a large family ; more
particularly, when it is borne in mind, that the addition of a wife and family, which
as some moral and mathematical writers have pointed out in several curious and
learn d treatises in which the social government of the poor is abstractedly con-
si'lered, is a luxury to which the labouring man has no sort of right, inasmuch, as
it is a privilege properly appertaining to the rich and to the higher classes ; for, as
that eminent political economist, Dr. Sawdust, eloquently observes, ' a poor man—

OB, TUB RICH AND THE POOR. 83

that is to saj, a man without property, has no business in the world at all, and can
be considered only in the light of an intruder, and as an incumbrance on the re*
sources of the rich/ Besides, it is to be taken into account, that poor people are in
the habit of bearing privations which would affect very severely the upper classes,
and therefore, ought to continue to bear them without murmuring ; and also, that
they are accustomed from infancy, as they must necessarily be, to submit, as a mat-
ter of course, to many inflictions incident to their lot, and occasionally to dispense
altogether with food, which indeed, some ingenious philosophers have taken the
pains to prove, is, in their case, rather advantageous than otherwise to the human
system. But it is clear that if the people, amidst the many blessings which they
enjoy, are so wicked as to fly in the face of Providence and to be discontented with
their condition, the unruly must be pat down by the strong hand of government ;
and it is with heartful feelings of grateful satisfaction, therefore, that we congratulate
ourselves on the direction of public affairs being in the hands of ministers who are
determined to control the unreasonable demands of the people, and who, in defiance
of the dangerous doctrines of some who call themselves the friends of the poor and
insist on what they ridiculously call ' a fair day's wages for a fair day's labour/ are
determined to keep their places — in the public esteem, and especially in the good
opinion of those who, by the possession of property, have a priority of claim on the
attention of the government, by firmly resisting any attempt to deprive his Majesty
of councillors as able as they are disinterested."

From "THE COUNTY FIREBRAND."

" What will ministers say now ? How long will the betrayers of their sovereign
and the hard-hearted and selfish oppressors of the people continue to indulge in their
base and nefarioas tyranny I Accounts have this moment reached us of a most
SAVAGE AND WANTON ATTACK of the liceutious soldiery on a peaceable and un-
armed population I It appears, that a rather considerable number of labourers and
others were assembled, as we are informed, in an unoccupied building for the pur-
pose of indulging in those harmless festivities, which at this season of the year are
80 congenial to the feelings of the English people ; while they were so employed in
their harmless and innocent amusements, a body of ferocious cavalry, after ruth-
lessly discharging their carabines, savagely loaded to the muzzles, through the
windows, dashed into the building, full of the unsuspecting labourers, and commenced
a gbnebal massacre on the men, women, and children ! They were led on by
the son of the notorious Earl of Grandborough, who, of course, was only doing his
duty I —but who is well known and execrated for his many cruel oppressions of
the labouring poor, especially for the last few years ; during which, the tyrannical
overbearing of this scion of neronian despotism has been carried to such a height
as almost to drive the people into rebellion. We are credibly informed, from a
source on which we can entirely rely, that the labourers were purposely en-
trapped into the meeting by an agent of the government, in order that their
wholesale slaughter might be more easily effected ! and that the wicked scheme
was diabolically, concocted between Lord Sarum and the great boroughmonger !
A respectable individual of the name of Simple has manfully come forward to state,
that as he was passing in the mail, at no great distance from the scene of blood,

Q 2

84 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

there was a report, which somebody had heard from some one, but whose authority
is undoubted, that several tumbrels had been dispatched from the Castle in the di-
rection of the place of massacre, filled with a»imunition and all bobts of co»r-
BusTiBLEs, and particularly an immense cask of gunpowder, which one of the
»nscREANTS was heard to declare, with fiend-like jocularity, was the strongest ever
brewed ! Brewed ! ! I forsooth I This is the Christmas fare that the heartless aris-
tocracy BREW for the famishing population — Gunpowder, swords, and bullets ! ! !
An atrocity too atrocious to be believed, by some, even of the present base ministry ;
though we arc convinced that any accusation of their infamous designs must fall far
short of the truth — if our respectable and enlightened informant had not a precise
recollection of the fact, from the circumstance of his being in the act of drinking a
glass of brandy and water at the time, and that the horrible revelation made him
almost fall from his seat, and it was with difficulty that be could raise the brandy to
his lips, so powerfully were his nerves affected by the heart-rending information.
But will the English people bear this intolerable tyranny ? When famine stalks
over the land, and the genius of despair sits on the monument of desolation I
While the selfish aristocracy vomit forth their disgusting exultations over the misery
of the people, and trample on the liberties of their country 1 and the earth is drenched
with the gore of the miserable population who roam about seeking in vain for shelter
from the universal carnage ! their insides filled with leaden bullets instead of
bread, and their outsides stuck full of bayonets instead of raiment, while Heaven
looks on from the lurid sky, and the angels covering themselves with the clouds
for shame, shake their fiery wings with indignation at the oppressors of the
people ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! I! I ! ! ! ! ! I ! ! ! ! ! ! I ! ! ! ! I ! ! ! ! ! ! I ! ! ! ! ! ! I I ! ! ! I !!

From « THE NINKOMPOPE JOURNAL/'

" It is with feelings of regret greater than we can possibly express, even if our
time and limits would allow, that we learn of some symptoms of discontent in a
certain northern county. It is said that the family seat of the noble Earl of
Gra — b — ough has been burnt to the ground, but whether by accident or Jesiyn^
we cannot say, because we do not know ; it is added, that his amiable and ac-
complished son. Lord S — r — m, who has lately returned from a continental tour,
perished in the Jlames, This account, we are happy to say, however, is con-
tradicted; though another report states, that his lordship was inhumanly mur-
dered by a wretch known by the name of Matthew the Woodman^ who enticed his
lordship into his cottage and despatched him, by forcing him to eat some brown
bread and water. We have reason to believe, however, that this report is not al-
together correct, as another correspondent informs us that the lamentable death of
his lordship was occasioned by the im^^rtment jealousy of a person of low rank, of the
name of Will, or Black, on account of & young lady of fascinating beauty and extra-
ordinary personal accomplishments, whose name we are reluctant to bring before the
public, and to whom, therefore, in deference to her modesty and mild delicacy of feel-
ing, we can only distantly 2\\\x^e as, Miss R — b — ca H — tch — tt, we presume of Jewish
extraction. The young lady hrnMingfainted in Lord S — r — m*s arms, to whom she
was tenderly attached, was discovered in that interesting situation by his rival, Mr.
Black (we are not confident as to the name, but the rest of our account may be
relied on), which led to an altercation between the gentlemen. I^ord S — r — ro, with

OR, TUE UICII AND THE POOR. 85

that cbaracteristic suavity which so much distinguishes — alas! wc must say, did
distinguish that elegant young nobleman— politely requested Mr. Black to retire,
observing, that one gentleman at a time was enough to support one young lady ; but
Mr. Black insolently replied, that he would noty for that he (Mr. Black) had as much
ritjht to the young lady as him (Lord S — r— m). A scuffle ensued — Mr. Black
impertinently taking hold of the collar of Lord S — r— m's coat, and Lord S — r— m
seizing Mr. Black by the hair of his Iiead, in which way they pulled each other
backwards and forwards for a considerable time ; the lad// remaining in an uncon-
scious state in Lord S— r— m's arms, but with the instinctive modesty of her sex,
taking care that her dress, which was oi pink satin with a sky-blue spencer and a
filigree lace bonnet, was not too much discomposed. Unfortunately, however, in the
struggle for the possession of the lady, the parties approached the edge of a dreadful
pit of great depth, popularly supposed to be Jtaunted by a white demon, and the
young lady was projected into it with great violence, screaming frightfully ; upon
which Lord S — r — m in despair, immediately jumpeJ after her, exclaiming, that he
would not live without Aw i? — b — ca ; ondyrviS followed by Mr. Black. The quarrel
was renewed at the bottom of the pit ; and a duel was fought over the supplicating
form of the prostrate R — b — ca, whose fall had recovered her from her faint, and both
the gentlemen were shot dead on the spot The unhappy young lady remained at the
bottom of the pit, refusing to \eA\Q the dead bodies over which she bewailed by turns,
and determined to die of grief, notwithstanding ths remonstrances of her friends T*

Second Edition!

" The young lady is still at the bottom of the pit. The landlady of the White Bull

has lowered down a bottle of stout and sandwiches, of which the disconsolate heroine

has slightly partaken."

Third Edition ! !

" We stop the press to say that we have notliing furtlier to communicate !'*

From « THE COMMON SENSE REPORTER."

"Reports have prevailed during the last few days of the destruction of Grand-
borough Castle by fire, and rumour went so far as to say, that the fire was the work
of incendiaries, and that Lord Sarum, the eldest son of the noble Earl had perished
in the flames. We are glad to be able to contradict both these reports, although wo
have reason to believe, that the privations of the labouring population in those dis-
tricts bad risen to such a height as to provoke them to the contemplation of acts of
criminal retaliation. We are far from the desire of encouraging the unlawful ex-
cesses into which the labouring population have lately been instigated, and we arc
compelled to say, which they have shewn an inclination too readily to practise ; bat
.at the same time we think it would be prudent to say nothing on the score of
Christian feeling and humanity, for the possessors of property to pay more attention
to the social condition of the labouring poor, and to take heed lest the privations and
sufferings which they. undergo, should provoke in them feelings of discontent so
bitter as to alienate their affections from their landlords and employers, their natural
guardians and protectors. As Bacon said, long since, *the greatest exciter of
rebellion is Ibe hungry belly.'

»n

86 FANinr, THE LITTLB UILUNBR:

CHAPTER XL

OBANDBOROUGH CASTLE. — LADT ELEANOR. — BCOBCHED HEARTS, LIKE BURNT
TINDER, SOON CATCH FIBB AGAIN. — IN WELL-CONDUCTED FAMILIES THE
MABBIAGE COMES FIRST, AND THE CHRISTENING AFTER. — OMENS.

Lord Sarum remained for many days incapable of thought or
action. When his returning strength enabled him to revolve in
his mind the occurrences of that terrible night, he lost no time
in despatching a confidential agent to Italy to make inquiries
respecting the beautiful Italian, but without giving reason to sus-
pect the sacred ties by which Franccsca was united to him.

His messenger, after a lengthened absence, reported that the
lady, respecting whose removal from Italy he was commissioned
to inquire, had left her abode at Florence suddenly, with her
child. He had been successful also in tracing the vessel in
which she had embarked, and had ascertained the day of its
arrival in the port of London. There, however, all knowledge
of her was lost ; but Lord Sarum remembered that it was on
that day that the supposed begging -letter, unfortunately so
lightly treated, had been presented at the family mansion in
London, and on a fragment of which he had recognised the
well-known handwriting of Francesca. From London, Lord
Sarum had himself traced Francesca, with her infant, to the
cross-road leading towards Grandborough Castle; and the cir-
cumstance of the child that had been saved, and the cross of
gold bearing her name at the edge of the pit, proved but too
clearly that it was no other than Francesca that had met with
her death on that night of horrors. The chain of evidence was
clear, unbroken, and irresistible ; Francesca, the unhappy Fran-
cesca, was dead. — He pondered, on his sick bed, on what course
he ought to adopt with regard to his child.— There could be no
doubt of her identity. That he ought to acknowledge her at
once seemed plainly to be his duty. His love for his lost Fran-
cesca, and his afiection for her offspring — rendered more dear to
him by its mother's death — alike prompted him to recognise his
child and to establish her rights without delay. But that pro-
ceeding, he considered, would involve the necessity of an explana-
tion with his father, who had no suspicion of the real state of the

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 87

case : and in his present weak state he felt that it was impossible
for him to bear the least mental excitement ; and he dreaded,
from habit, to rouse up his father's anger at an act which he
knew well would be regarded by him as the very extremity of
filial disobedience and of family degradation. He postponed,
therefore, the revelation of Fanny's birth for a few days, until he
should have sufficient strength to go through the scene which
would be the unavoidable accompaniment of the disclosure ; and
in the meantime he directed the same confidential agent to see
the child, and to assure himself of her health and welfare. To
his extreme consternation, his agent returned with the informa-
tion, that the widow Lacey, and her son Edward, with the child,
had disappeared. He had found out that the young labourer
had been implicated in the illegal meetings of the labourers, and
that a warrant had been issued against him, which no doubt was
the cause of his flight.

Here was a fresh cause of embarrassment I — Lord Sarum gave
instructions to his agent to spare neither diligence nor money in
endeavouring to discover the place of their retreat, as it was par«>
ticularly necessary, he said, for the ends of justice, that the
young labourer should be secured. But all search was in vain :
the hiding-place of the fugitives remained a secret; and the
unfortunate Lord Sarum had a new cause of anxiety in the
uncertainty of the fate of his child.

All these inquiries consumed some months. In the mean-
time Lady Eleanor, who had arrived at the castle with her father
and mother. Lord and Lady St. Austin, two days after the scene
at the pit, in pursuance of Lord Grandborough's old invitation,
exhibited the most affectionate interest in the health of Lord
Augustus ; and as soon as he was permitted to leave his room,
she united with her mother in paying him all those little atten-
tions, which to the suffering mind are never so grateful as when
administered by those of the gentler sex, whose sympathy is at
once flattering and consoling. Lord Grandborough had been so
earnest in his entreaties to Lady St. Austin not to leave him at
a time of such deep aflliction, that Lord St. Austin, with herself,
were easily persuaded to extend their visit ; and the more readily
as there was a relationship between the families, and as both
parties had their views in promoting the companionship of Lord
Augustus and Lady Eleanor.

Lady Eleanor was young, beautiful, artless, and unsuspiciousi

88 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEK :

She had been the playfellow of Lord Augustus in their infancy ;
and the circumstance of his recent peril and his present melan-
choly, rather prompted than checked her inclination to resume
the terms of their old familiarity. Neither could it escape her
observation that her parents would be glad that the early affec-
tion of the children should ripen into a more lasting attachment
in their now maturer years ; and remarks had dropped from her
mother, as if accidentally, which were calculated to induce in her
the belief that it required only a little encouragement on her
part to draw from the timid and melancholy Lord Sarum the
avowal of the love which, it was hinted, he had ardently cherished
since their earliest acquaintance. On the other hand. Lord
Grandborough took care to point out to his son the kind interest
which Lady Eleanor took in his health, and the affectionate and
sisterly kindness which she exhibited towards him in a multitude
of trifling, but delicate and flattering attentions. He took occa-
sion to observe, that it was generally considered in the county,
that his marriage with Lady Eleanor was a settled thing ; and he
threw out, cautiously, a few half-expressed suggestions, and more
in the way of thinking aloud than of direct observations, in
respect to the honourable course which it was the duty of a
gentleman to pursue, under circumstances in which he had per-
mitted the lady's name to be compromised by attentions which
could only be interpreted as having a certain signification.

Lord Sarum, on his part, was by no means insensible to
the beauty, the accomplishments, and the evident preference
which Lady Eleanor took no particular pains to disguise ; and
the familiarity with which he had been accustomed to converse
with her from his childhood, was calculated to impress on the
mind of the lady that his attachment for her was of the nature
which her mother had, on more than one occasion, casually
referred to. With these dispositions on both sides, it is not
surprising that his old flame for the beautiful Eleanor, who
was every day present before his eyes, should become revived;
and that the conviction of his unaltered attachment should be
confirmed in a young girl whose heart was ready to receive
it. When the noble guests, therefore, took their departure,
the parting between Lady Eleanor and Lord Augustus was
such as to leave the impression on both, that the one had more to
express than he ventured to declare, and that the other had more
to confess than she dared to avow; — a state of things quite satis-

oil, TUK IIICU AND THE riX)ll. 89

factory to Lord Grandboroiigh and to Lady St. Austin, who,
with great discretion, let things take their course, without making
any attempt to force a premature explanation.

The seat of the St. Austins was not more than fifteen miles
from Grandborough Castle, and as soon as I^rd Sarum could
bear the fatigue of exercise, it was in that direction that he most
frequently bent his course. lie had continually expressed
his desire to have the old mine cleared out and ventilated, so
that it might be properly searched, for the remains of the
stranger who had lost her life on that unhappy night ; but some
objection or obstacle was always opposed by Lord Grandborough,
and sometimes his son fancied, with an appearance of obstinacy
and design quite unaccountable: " It was necessary for engines
to be erected to pump out the water ; part of the mine had
fallen in, and much time would be consumed and much expense
incurred before an examination could safely be commenced."
These and similar excuses were constantly brought forward ; but
as Lord Sarum expressed his determination to have the mine
examined, measures were put in progress, though reluctantly
and slowly. In the meantime, the intimacy between Lord
Sarum and Lady Eleanor, renewed under circumstances so
favourable for its development, increased daily ; and before the
end of the year. Lord St. Austin thought it incumbent on him
to request some particular conversation with his visiter, and
seriously to ask his intentions. Lord Sarum, though it was a
question to be expected, was embarrassed when it came to the
point; he requested a day to consider his reply; it was granted;
but with an air, on the part of Lord St. Austin, of surprise and
disappointment.

Lord Sarum had no doubt of his own inclination, nor of his
duty towards Lady Eleanor; but some considerations embar-
rassed him. There was the secret of his former marriage and
of the birth of the child, which, though for the present lost, was,
he hoped, still living. All his researches after it, however
had been ineffectual, and they might still prove fruitless: —
of what use, then, would it be to enter into an explanation which
might for ever remain buried in oblivion? It would only give
pain, without benefiting the child or any one else; it would
not remedy the difficulty. If he should be so fortunate as to
recover the little Fanny, it would then be time enough to ac-
knowledge her, and to establish her rights before all the world ;

90 FANNT^ TH£ LITTLB MILLINEH:

that is^ if he could legally prove her identity; that was a puzzling
consideration. Stilly that it was his own child^ it was impos-
sible for him to doubt in his own mind; the certainty of her
reality, to him, was the same as the certainty of Francesca's
death ; — the one was the proof of the other. In conclusion, he
determined to wait the course of events, and in the meantime to
endeavour, by all possible means, to discover the place of her con-
cealment. But it was not without the most severe mental anguish
that he pictured to himself the difficulties and dangers to which
his child must be exposed, unprotected and unassisted in the
world. — He looked at the case on all sides, but he could see no
remedy. — In spite of the grief which it caused to him to con-
template her suffering, perhaps, all the privations of poverty, he
could do nothing; the child was lost, and he must leave to
time, to good fortune, and to his own unremitted exertions, the
chance of her recovery.

Then, turning his thoughts again to Lady Eleanor, he felt
that his old attachment to her was increased and confirmed; nor
could he be unaware that such a prize was a treasure which all
the world might envy him the possession of. Besides, his alli-
ance with Lady Eleanor, in accordance with his father's long-
cherished desire, would be a sort of atonement, he argued, for
his clandestine marriage with the humble and fascinating Italian.
Even if he was disinclined to marry Eleanor, he could not but ad-
mit, as a man of honour, that his public attentions to her had been
of such a nature as to expose him to the charge of a dishonourable
trifling with a noble girl's affections, if he were not to justify his
attentions by a proposal. But there was no necessity for consi-
dering the question in that point of view; — his own inclination
went before his duty in the matter. Still there was a reproach
working in his heart that he was doing an injustice to the
memory of Irancesca, by contracting another marriage so soon
afler her melancholy fate. Only a year had elapsed since that
dreadful night I But death, alas, had closed over the earthly
career of the fond Italian girl, and she was now insensible to joy
or grief I It was with a feeling of angry regret that he consi-
dered that her remains had not been recovered, in order that he
might have paid honour to them in consecrated ground ; and he
resolved to make that task his chief care, as a sacred duty, as
soon as the means of examining the mine were completed, a
process which he resolved to use every means to hasten. But,

Oti, THB BICH AND THE POOft* 91

in spite of all his efforts to that effect, he met, in the obstacles
which were quietly thrown in the way, by his father, an impe-
diment which he found it impossible to surmount, as it was
unaccountable in its obstinacy to imderstand, except on the
score of the expense, which, however. Lord Sarum was willing
to defray out of his private funds; but the mine remained
unexamined.

The earnest desire of the Earl of Grandborough, therefore, to
unite the two estates, became, in a shorter time than is usual in
the completion of aristocratic alliances, happily fulfilled. Lord
and Lady St. Austin saw the wish of their life accomplished.
Lord Sarum, in the society of a beautiful and accomplished
woman, began to forget the bitter affliction of Francesca's death.
A continental tour distracted his attention, for a while, from the
question of the clearing out of the old mine ; and, in due time,
the birth of a son and heir, the successor to the combined
estates of the united families of Grandborough and St. Austin,
formed an additional bond of mutual attachment. The earl
could not contain his delight; in the overflowing of his satis-
faction, he directed blankets and provisions, with a copy of his
speeches on the social condition of the poor, to be distributed to
every one of the retainers on his estate, and great was the re-
joicing at Grandborough Castle. The christening was con-
ducted with almost royal pomp ; and Lord Sarum regarded the
important little being, on whom was to devolve the honours of
the family, with feelings of pardonable pride. But in the midst
of the ceremony, the contemplation of the infant recalled to his
mind the new and strange feelings of delight with which he had
regarded his first child in Italy; and that child was exposed,
perhaps, and even then suffering, under the numberless priva-
tions which afflict the poor I The image of the living Francesca
seemed, with an appalling distinctness of mental vision, to rise
up and upbraid him for his marriage with another I And then
he thought of her mouldering remains — unburied and un-
shrined — overwhelmed him with a secret remorse. The idea
became so strong, and the images which had been suggested by
some association of the present with the past became so vividly
depicted in his imagination, that he grew pale before the sacred
font ; — he staggered, and would have fallen, but for the support
of those around him.

The noble guests assembled to do honour to the ceremony

92 WAMVYy TaZ LITTXX X£LLUI£&:

regarderl with wonrler the extraordinary agitatioD of tlic father
of the illo^triotfi infant, and Ladj Eleanor, at a loes to account
fofr the sudden iUneas of her buaband, regarded him with aficc*
tionate alarm. Lord Sarom, howerer, with an effort, rallied
bis spirits ; he re^mied his composure, and the important cere-
monj was brought reTcrentlj to a close. It was remarked, how-
erer, that, during the subsequent entertainment. Lord Sarum
was of a deadly paleness. Is it that some mTSterious intelligence
prompts the presentiment of coming ill? In spite of all his
crfforts to exhibit appropriate cheerfulness^ <hi an occasion of such
festivity, he could not shake off the obscure apprehension which
possessed him of some impending eyiL

OR, THE BICH AND THE POOR. 93

CHAPTER XII.

CONTRASTS. — A HAPPY PAIR.— PRACTICAL CHARITY. — LADY ELEANOR VISITS
A POOR WOMAN. — STRANGE INFORMATION. — HORRIBLE SUSPICIONS. —
DESPAIR.

The mom was clear and bright which ushered in the day suc-
ceeding that of the solemn and gorgeous ceremony of the
christening of the infant heir to the titles and domains of the
House of Grandborough ; and, as Lady Eleanor gazed on her
boy, and presented him to the caresses of her husband, all nature
seemed smiling with gladness. Lord Sarum had recovered his
usual serenity, and he regarded his son with pride and fondness.

" We are very happy," said Lady Eleanor, in the fulness of
her heart—" we are very happy. I sometimes think, as the story
tells us, in the Fairy Tales, that such perfect happiness is too
good to last I We have all the good the world can give us ; but
I fear too much prosperity makes us selfish ; I have neglected
some of the poor people whom I was accustomed to attend to at
home ; I can think only of you, my dear Augustus, and of my
own perfect state of happiness. And I have not put in practice
my own little plans for doing all the good in my power to the
poor about us here, for it seems there must be poor people
wherever you go. But really I cannot rest easy if I do not, at
least, attempt to lessen the wretchedness that I hear talked of.
Positively, I sometimes feel the contrast of our own wealth and
luxuries with the privations of the poor, quite painfully. If we
cannot relieve all, my dear Augustus, we may relieve some.
And now don't suppose your little wife a political economist,
but I really think that more good is done by personal examina-
tion into the condition and the wants of poor people than by
any other way. It is the timely help that does most good. I
know I used to find it so at home — I mean before our marriage,
dear, for your home is mine now — and a happy home it is. I
think I shall carry my little plans into effect at once, if you see
no objection ; of course. Lord Grandborough can have none."

" I am not quite sure of that, my love," replied Lord Sarum,
smiling ; " he has rather decided opinions upon the question of

94 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

administering charitable relief to the poor ; but I dare say he
will not object to anything that you may do."

" Very well, then, I shall not talk about it any more, but do
it, Mrs. Buckram, the housekeeper, seems a very proper sort of
person, and I dare say we shall get on very well together. By
the bye, I have received a letter this morning from a poor woman
who seems to be in a sad condition. She has been in prison, she
says, for a long time ; but she writes very well — not at all like a
common person. I will send Mrs. Buckram, to make inquiries.
You would not like me, perhaps, to go myself?" added Lady
Eleanor, inquiringly.

" My love, if your mind is bent upon it, go by all means ; you
can take Mrs. Buckram with you. Indeed, I think it a duty in-
cumbent on us to become personally acquainted with the con-
dition of the poor people in the immediate vicinity of our own
estates. Go ; and you can tell me what the case is when you
come back. I have business that I must attend to ; so, good-
bye till dinner time."

Lady Eleanor immediately summoned the important Mrs.
Buckram, and explained her intentions.

" Certainly, ma'am, if your ladyship wishes it," replied Mrs.
Buckram ; ** but your ladyship has no idea what imposition
there is among poor people, and the more you give, the more
you may ; it only encourages them to be idle and insolent to
their betters ; but, of course, if your ladyship wishes, it shall be
done."

" You can have some wine put in the carriage, and some cold
fowls, and anything else that you think would be acceptable,
and some tarts for the children, for, of course, there are children,
— somehow, poor people always have so many children I"

" Really, your ladyship, begging your ladyship's pardon, you
will spoil the poor people about us, if you treat them in that
way. And as to wine, there is not a poor woman that I ever
saw that would not prefer a glass of gin — I beg your ladyship's
pardon for mentioning such a word — to all the wine in my lord's
cellars. It would be better, if your ladyship would allow me to
offer my advice, to give them some good bedding, and blankets,
and serviceable clothes, if you must give them something."

" Thank you, Mrs. Buckraui — I shall take your advice ; but,
at any rate, put up something to eat ; for it is horrid to hear the
poor creatures say, they have had nothing to eat for I don't

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 95

know how long. And desire my maid not to forget to put some
silver in my purse ; it is awkward not to have money about you,
when you want to give a few shillings to a poor person."

" It may be all very well," observed the unsympathetic house-
keeper, " to give money, perhaps, on some particular occasions,
as on a marriage or a funeral ; but, generally, it all goes to the
public-house. In short, your ladyship, it does no good to poor
people to keep giving them money, and clothes, and food, as
some ladies do ; it only teaches them to expect it to come to
them as a matter of course, and makes them think they have a
sort of right to it; and then, when they are disappointed, they
either go a-begging or get into riots, as they did two years ago,
when they ill-treated Lord Augustus so cruelly."

'^ Ah I that was a sad affair I Lord Augustus never likes me
to mention it ; but there is no rioting now, so there can be no
fear of my being molested in going about to inquire into the
wants of the poor in our neighbourhood ; and therefore, Mrs.
Buckram, if it does not interfere with your duties, I should be
glad if you could accompany me in my present visit"

Lady Eleanor alighted from her carriage at a short distance
from a cluster of rude cottages, about two miles from the castle,
within the boundaries of the Grandborough estate ; and, assisted
by the presence of the housekeeper, she inquired for the resi-
dence of a woman of the name of " Hatchett," for such was the
signature to the letter which she had received. A wretched-
looking hut was pointed out to her, to which she made her way,
amidst the wondering looks of many an untidy head hastily
thrust out of windows without glass, curious to know the object
of such a personage in coming on foot to such a place, while
little groups of excessively dirty children, in tattered clothes and
with unwashed faces, stood, with their fingers in their mouths,
struck with mute astonishment at the apparition of a grand lady
in fine clothes smiling at them, and asking them their names,
which none of them seemed able to remember. When she
reached the door of the hut in which she was informed Mrs.
Hatchett was to be found, the high-bom lady paused and looked
uneasily at the housekeeper.

" You had better not go in, my lady," said Mrs. Buckram ;
" there is no knowing what fevers you may meet with in these
places. Perhaps the poor woman can come out and talk in the
open air." Saying this, she knocked at the door with her parasol.

96 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

" Come in I" said a low voice.

" Are you Mrs. Hatchett," asked the housekeeper, raising her
voice and speaking through the thin door, " who wrote a letter
to Lady Sarum ?"

" I believe I am," answered the voice ; " but what I am I
hardly know."

" My lady is at the door, and if you wish to speak to her you
must come out."

" If Lady Sarum wishes to see me, she must come in," re-
turned the voice.

" It's a mad woman, for certain," said the housekeeper to
Lady Sarum. " Good heavens I this comes of going about to
these people's places. Begging your ladyship's pardon, I never
knew any good come of it, only abuse and ill-will. Your lady-
ship had better get back to the carriage as fast as you can."

" I am ill," said the voice from within the hut, " and I cannot
raise myself up; but I can tell that to Lady Sarum which it
may be well for her to know ; but she must be alone."

" Oh, heavens, my lady ! for goodness' sake don't venture
into such a place alone. Suppose you were to catch some dis-
ease ; or suppose the woman is mad ; mad people do such dread-
ful things I I'm sure some harm will come of it. Well, if your
ladyship is determined, I will try to run back, and get the
carriage up, lest the men should be wanted to protect you."
So saying, the portly Mrs. Buckram set off at a pace as nearly
resembling a run as her sense of dignity would permit; and
Lady Eleanor entered the hut.

The dwelling, if dwelling it could be called — for the noble
owner of the domains on which it stood would not have allowed
his dogs to lie in such a hole — consisted of a single room. There
was no fire, although the season, the beginning of November, was
very cold. There was not an article of furniture in the place, and
the floor was of earth damp and green with moisture. In one
comer, on a bed composed of a collection of old rags on the earthen
floor, lay a woman of singular and forbidding aspect. No words
were wanted to explain her condition ; the place was the exhibi-
tion of the last degree of poverty and want, as the woman was
the personification of the last degree of human wretchedness.
The contrast between the rich and the poor was never more
vividly exemplified ; the rich child of Fortune's favours looked
down on one of the most miserable of the miserable poor. The

OB, TUE RICU AND TUE POOB. 97

two extremes of wealth and poverty were brought face to face :
the sick woman fixed her hollow eyes on the radiant features of
her visitor, and regarded her with admiration : —

" You are very beautiful," she said ; " and you bear on your
brow the mark of the world's prosperity : pity that such happi-
ness should change I — but it is a judgment on them," she con-
tinued, muttering to herself; " it is a judgment I"

Lady Eleanor was a little frightened. There was something
about the woman's manner, and especially about her eyes, which,
though sunk deep in their sockets, were wonderfully bright,
which seemed to betray insanity. With a desire to soothe the
wretched creature, she asked her, in a kind voice, what she
could do to relieve her ?

" Nothing I — Death will soon relieve me ; that is the only
resting-place for the poor; and death is now all I have to
hope for."

'* My poor woman," said Lady Eleanor, looking out anxi-
ously at the same time for the arrival of her carriage, " this is a
sad condition for you to be in. Have you been in this state
long ?"

" My last home was a prison ; between this and that there
is not much to choose, except one's liberty ; and what is that
worth? — only the liberty to starve in one place instead of
another."

" I am very sorry for your sufferings, my poor woman ; I am,
I assure you. Why was it that you were put in prison ; I hope
for nothing wrong ?"

" Wrong I Do you know to whom you are speaking ?"

" Your name is Hatchett — is it not ?"

" That was my husband's name. Do you know who killed
my husband ? It was your Lord Sarum. — Now do you know
me?"

" My good woman, I know nothing of you ; but I will give
directions for the necessary relief to be sent to you directly."

** Stay I you must know more before you go. Do you re-
member when Lord Sarum's life was threatened, two years ago,
at the White Woman's Pit ! "

" I have heard the story ; but I do not wish to hear anything
on that subject. I will send "

" But you must hear. Do you know that it was your Lord
Sarum, all the time, who betrayed us, in spite of his oaths, and

H

98 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

who brought down the soldiers on us that night ? Ay — fine work
for the aristocracy and the magistrates I and well did they glut
themselves in their cruelties on the people I How many were
transported, leaving their wives and children to starve I how
many were cast into dungeons, to rot and curse their oppressors!
And they put me into their prison 1 It was all Lord Sarum's
work ! Do you know that, proud lady ? — But I have a vengeance
in store, and I thank him for his imprisonment of me ; yes, I
thank him ! for there I learnt that which will make him curse
his existence, and which will tear up by the roots the honours of
his proud family for ever and ever I"

" Woman, what is it you say ; and why have you enticed me
here to listen to your wicked falsehoods of my husband? What
is it you mean by your threats of vengeance ?**

^^ Lady Eleanor Sarum, listen to me : Lord Sarum, and Lord
Sarum's father, and the rich and hard-hearted such .as they,
have brought me to the ruin and the wretchedness which you
see I It was they who killed my husband I It was they who
caused the death of my children ! It was they who have made
me the wretched — and the wicked — and the maddened thing,
which idle fools are glad to scoff at I It was I who urged the
angry labourers to cast your husband into the Haunted Fit^the
pit which has a curse on it — and which is a pit of vengeance to
him and his ! — Yes, it was 1 1 Now you know who and what I
am ; — I am Rebecca 1''

Lady Eleanor shrieked aloud.

'^ And now go home and tell your husband that the woman
who lost her Hfe that night wis not the mother of the child." —

Lady Eleanor, in spite of her fear, found her attention irre-
sistibly attracted by these words.

'^ No ; the mother was taken ill on her way to Grandborough
Castle ; she thought she was dying, but she did not die ; but
thinking so, she confided her infant to the care of the wife of
a labouring man, who died in the gaol in which I was confined
There was a cross, too, of gold, and a little gold casket, which
she was to give to Lord Sarum, to prove the identity of the child.
But the gold tempted her, and him, too ; for the man told me
all ; he was dying, and his mind was ill at ease ; but she missed
the track, across the moor, he supposed, for the ground was
covered with snow ; and it was she who fell down the hole of
the old mine."

OR, THE BICH AND TUK POOR. 99

*^ But what," asked Lady Eleanor, almost beseechingly, ^^ has
Lord Sanim to do with that ? **

'^ Ask him — no doubt he will tell you; but that is his
secret: I say, ask him ; — and when you tell to him what I now
tell to you, mark him well; — and ask yourself which is the most
miserable? — the wretch who now lies in rags, and filth, and
poverty, and disease, before you, or the heir of the House of
Grandborough ? with his beautiful wife — his new-bom son — ^and
with all his titles, wealth, and honours thick upon him I — ask
yourself, I say, which is the wretch most wretched ? and then
my vengeance will be completed ! Go ; I will say no more."

It was fortunate that Lady Eleanor's carriage came up at this
moment, with the housekeeper and her servants, for she felt a
iaintness and a sickness of the heart, as if the veil over the
obsciuity of the past had been suddenly rent away ; and her soul
was filled with a gloomy terror of some dark and threatening
misfortune. She arrived at the castle without having exchanged
a word with the amazed Mrs. Buckram, who, from respect, pre-
served silence ; not doubting in her own mind, however, that
her ladyship was effectually cured of her freak of poking about
after poor people in their wretched habitations ; an indiscretion
into which she herself had never had the weakness to fall — so
entirely did she agree in the charitable opinions of her noble
master, the Earl of Grandborough, who had been pleased, occa-
sionally, to expatiate on the subject to one who was such an en-
lightened and deferential auditor.

Immediately on her arrival at the castle, Lady Eleanor shut
herself up in her dressing-room to reflect on the extraordinary
communication of the mad woman. It was some time before
she could collect her thoughts, so as steadily to consider the
effect of what she had heard. She remembered that the re-
markable interest exhibited by her husband on the night of the
accident had been commented on at the time ; but any loose
surmises that might have temporarily been excited, had long
since died away; nor did she clearly understand what those
surmises were, which would never have recurred to her memory
but for the vague suspicion raised in her mind by the insinuation
of a woman whose wits apparently were wandering. And, after
all, what did it amount to ? Lord Sarum had been involved,
perhaps, in some passing attachment? — but here a twinge of pain
cut her so sharply, that she arose, and pacing the room in agita-

100 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

tion, shed some scalding tears. — She determined to see the
strange woman again, and gain from her more precise parti-
culars ; but that course she felt, on second thoughts, would be
derogatory to herself, and an unworthy inquisitiveness into the
secrets of her husband. " Besides," as she repeated to herself,
" what was it after all ?" It was over now — past — ^forgotten ;: —
but a secret feeling told her, that by her it would never be for-
gotten ! — ^What should she do ? Who could advise her ? She
had a gnawing desire to get at the fact; not the craving of
vulgar curiosity, but the deep and earnest desire, for the sake of
her own peace, for her guidance towards her husband, and for the
happiness of both, to know the truth ; to know it ; to bear it ;
and to bury it in oblivion. At last — perplexed and feverish, she
resolved to tell the whole story to her husband. As she formed
this resolution. Lord Sarum, as if forestalUng her intention, en~
tered ; and inquired the result of her visit to the poor woman.

Lady Eleanor was visibly agitated, and was obliged to sit
down.

" You have been agitated, my love, and you look quite pale ;
these visits are too much- for you. What is it that you have
seen?"

" I have seen," said Lady Eleanor, speaking slowly and with
difficulty, " a strange mad woman, who calls herself— Rebecca I"

" That is a name," said Lord Sarum, passing his hand over
his forehead, " which brings to my memory terrible recol-
lections. Was she a dark woman — wild, with bright staring
eyes?"

'' She was."

^^ It is the same. That woman, Eleanor, had nearly caused
my death ; but she has suffered imprisonment for the part she
took at that awful meeting. I have forgiven her; and if the
poor woman is in distress, I would willingly relieve her 1"

" She seems not to have forgiven you, Augustus," said Lady
Eleanor ; — " But the woman must be mad."

** Yes, she is mad."

'^ She said something very odd about that night, and about
the White Woman's pit," continued Lady Eleanor, trembling;
" not that I can see how it concerns you or me ; — but she
seemed very earnest about it."

Lord Sarum changed colour slightly. " What did she say?"

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 101

f<

I hardly remember ; — in truth, I was a little frightened, and
I was confused ; but she said that while she was in prison, she
heard from a man who was confined there — who had been im-
plicated in some illegal meetings — she heard from that man that
the child "

« Well ? "

" No — the mother — that is, the woman who fell into the pit,

was "

"Was who?"

'* Was not the mother of the child, but was his own wife, to
whom the mother had entnisted the child to carry to this castle ;
— and that she was the woman who met with her death ; — and

that the real mother of the child But, my God ! Augustus,

what is the matter with you? You look ghastly 1"

« Go on."—

" She said that the real mother of the child is — alive 1"

« What else ?"—

" No more."

" She said that the mother of the child is alive ?"

" Yes ; but Augustus — dear Augustus — what is the matter
with you? You grow paler — ^you reel — ^you faint I Help ! —
Lord Augustus is dead ! Help ! oh, help — he is dead — he is
dead!"

Several attendants rushed in at the sound of the piercing
shrieks of Lady Eleanor, while her husband dropped heavily on
the floor, and lay without sense or motion.

102 FAMNT, THE LITTLE HILLINEB:

CHAPTER XIIL

THOSE WHO ASB MOST ENYIED ABE SOMETIBfES MOST TO BB PITIED. —-LOBB
SABUM*S MELANCHOLY. — REPENTANT REFLECTIONS USUALLY MAIXE TOO

LATE. — RICHES AND RANK CANNOT CURE THE PANGS OF CONSCIENCE.

WHILE THE WRETCHED MOURN, TIME MOVES ON. — THE DAUGHTER OF
FRANCESCA MINGLES WITH ARISTOCRATIC SCENES AS FANNY THE LITTLE
BOLLINER.

By prompt medical attention, Lord Sarum was recovered. But
nothing could induce him to remain in bed. He got up, and
immediately sought an interview with his father.

Little suspecting that his father could know anything relating
to Francesca, he stated merely that it was necessary for him to
ascertain who the stranger was who had lost her life in the
mine two years ago ; and that it was his positive determination
to have the mine minutely examined, if it cost him even all his
fortune. There was a sternness in the expression of his son's
resolve which over-awed Lord Grandborough ; his lips quivered
and his speech faltered as he muttered a consent to whatever his
son might choose to have done ; and directions were given on
the spot for the preparations to be hastened, without regard to
difficulty or expense. Lord Sarum then mounted his horse, and
proceeded to the cluster of huts, in one of which Lady Eleanor
had heard the distracting information from Rebecca ; but Rebecca
had disappeared. With the waywardness of madness she had
left her miserable dwelling-place, and an access of fever giving
her artificial strength, she had wandered no one knew whither.
Search after her was instantly made ; but all trace of her seemed
lost.

Lord Sarum then bent all his exertions to the examination
of the old mine. By almost incredible exertions, in a few days
it was safe for the descent of the miners whom he had engaged
to make the investigation. They had no difficulty in finding
the remains of the woman who had been precipitated down the
shaft two years before. Decomposition had already taken place ;
but sufficient remained to enable those who had known her to
identify the body. A surgical examination made it clear that it
was the body of a woman advanced in years : the colour of her
hair, which was light, was remembered ; and by marks on her

OB, THE BICH AND THE P00& 103

clothes, which evidently had belonged to one of the humbler
class, all doubt was removed of her being the wife of a labouring
man, who had resided in a solitary cottage near the entrance of
the cross-road, about three miles from the village of Sandy Flats.
All these circumstances were carefully verified under the super-
intendence of the legal authorities, and the note of them pre-
served. The examination of Matthew the woodman proved
clearly how the accident happened; and the veracity of his
statement was confirmed by the testimony of numerous witnesses,
who had been present when the child was recovered from the
pit Strict inquiries were now made for the mother; but all the
researches of the magistrates were in vain. Who were the rela-
tions of the child, or what had become of the child itself, remained
buried in profound mystery. Lord Sarum questioned the wood-
man as to his knowledge of the hiding-place of Edward Lacey.
He had questioned him before, at the time of the child's disap-
pearance ; but the woodman declared now, as he had affirmed
then, that he was ignorant of the place of his retreat

In this state of uncertainty and doubt, Lord Sarum was
obliged to bury the secret in hb own breast, and sufier in silence
all the horror of his position. Francesca might or might not be
alive. — Could he dare to wish that she was dead ? How could
he summon up fortitude enough to believe that she was alive I
Frightfiil alternative ! — on whichever side contemplation rested,
there was misery and despair ! What was his condition, if Fran-
cesca was still living — he was maddened at the thought!
In that case, which was his wife? What was Lady Eleanor?
What was his son? If Francesca still lived, his second mar-
riage was illegal, and its issue illegitimate I Which was the
greater evil of the two— Francesca alive, or Francesca dead?
Must he think, that, to save the honour of a noble family,
to save firom a despair too horrible to contemplate, his wife
— could he dare to call her so? — Eleanor, whom he ten-
derly loved — to preserve the rights of his son, — must he
think that the death of Francesca was an event devoutly to
be wished ? Was ever wretch exposed to an. alternative so
strange and horrible I And then his thoughts reverted to that
night, the beginning of his troubles, when the begging letter
was presented at his father's house in London ! He gnashed
his teeth in frenzy, as he thought, that if he had only looked
at that which he supposed was a mere miserable supplication for

104 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER :

charitable relief, all these difficulties and all this agony might
have been saved I But it was too late ; the fatal neglect was
committed, and terrible was its punishment ! AH happiness for
him was gone for ever ! He had lost the salt and savour of life ; —
his heart was seared and withered : the future presented only
the aspect of a weary pilgrimage through the world; — a life of
doubt, of mystery, of fear — of ultimate exposure ! But still it
was his duty to live ; all probability was against him, but tbwfe
was one chance left — Francesca might be dead I Most'wrelched
chance ! most miserable hope I But his duty was to live ; to
fathom the mystery, and to recover his first child — but for
what? To legitimatize her? but that would illegitimatize the
son ! But still, under any circumstances, it was his duty to provide
for her. That he would do; and one of his first cares now 'was
to find her and protect her. But all his inquiries were still in
vain ; as well as his diligent search to trace out, through all
Italy, any information of Francesca. He began to* believe that
she must be really dead ; but his mind continued a prey to con-
tinual doubts and fears, which entirely changed his character,
and filled }vith constant alarm the devoted Eleanor,, who only
redoubled^ her attentions and the expression of het^ constant "
love, as the inind of her husband exhibited signs of deeper and *
deeper melancholy.

Lord Grandborough became an altered man; he sometimes
dropped expressions of sorrow for some act that he hd\ done,
which seemed to argue bitter and deep repentance. His former
coldness and austerity of manner towards applicants for relief
was now changed into an indulgence of charity amounting to
weakness : it seemed as if he was desirous to atone for one act
of coldness of heart, which had occasioned so many sorrows, by
the multitude of his donations, and by an excess of benevolence.
The young Lord Augustus grew up a fine and manly youth,
and his father beheld him with pride and joy, and with grief and
fear, by turns, ti this state, years passed away, and the mystery
remained unsolved.

The fortunes of the long-lost child now demand attention ;
and the course of history turns to the adventures and the perils
of Fanny, the Little Milliner.

OR. THE RICH AND THE POOR. 105

CHAPTER XIV.

LOBP SARUM IN LONDON. — FANNT AT HOME.— EXPLANATIONS.

Fourteen years passed awaj^ and the mystery remained un-
solved.. Lord Sariim was still exposed to all the horrors of
uncertainty ;— ^the unknown fate of the child ; the inexplicable
disappearance of Francesca; the doubt which the uncertainty of
Francesca's life or death cast on the legality of his marriage with
Lady Eleanor. ; the questionable right of his son to the family
titles and estates ; — all these doubts and fears grieved, perplexed,
and maddened him by turns. He lived in constant terror; — with
a fearful secret which he could not dare to tell, but which he was
in daily, dread some accident might ignominiously reveal. From
an undefined feeling of hope that his presence in the neighbour-
hood: of the terrible events long past might be the means of
arriving at some clue to the mystery which had so long embit-
tered his unhappy life, he had resided at Grandborough Castle,
occupied chiefly in devising schemes for tracing the flight of the
young labourer, Edward Lacy, andof ascertaining the fact of the
decease of Francesca. . At last he determined on again visiting
Italy, and of making a systematic search of all the convents and
religious. houses in the Italian States, and especially of endeavour-
ing to discover the clergyman by whom he had been married to
Francesca, and who he judged might possibly be acquainted with
the place, of her concealment, if she was still alive. With this
view, he proposed to Lady Eleanor that they should remove to
town, preparatory to his journey, in order that she might have
the benefit of change of scene, and the advantage of the society
of her father and mother during his absence. Lord Grand-
borough seemed strangely opposed to Lord Sarum's visiting
Italy again, and was curious in his inquiries as to his son's
motive in taking such a journey ; but Lord Sarum alleged the
state of his health, his desire for change of air in another climate
for a short time, and his wish to procure some works of art,
which, he had been informed, were on sale at Florence, and
which he thought would form appropriate additions to the em-

I

106 T/annY, the littlb hillineb:

bellishments of Grandborough Castle. The earl, who had
resided with his son and danghter-in-law since their marriage,
and who had always exhibited a sensitive disinclination to leave
them for a moment, made many frivolous but pertinacious objec-
tions to his son's departure ; but his peevish complaints were
considered by Lord Sarum as mere ebullitions of the fretiulness
consequent on his father's precarious state of health and in-
creasing infirmities. The necessary arrangements, therefore, were
made for the removal of the family to town in the beginning of
the spring, and the fashionable world in due time became av^are
that their ranks were reinforced by the arrival of Lord and Lady
Sarum, accompanied by the Earl of Grandborough, at the family

mansion in * Square. The most approved guide to the

peerage was immediately consulted with much seriousness by
various watchfiil dowagers and speculative mammas, and it was
correctly ascertained that Lord Sarum had an only son, between
fourteen and fifteen years of age, who was heir to the united
estates of Grandborough and St. Austin, and who was thereby,
with an earldom to boot, a personage of considerable import-
ance to all mothers of daughters, and about whose wel&re,
therefore, pursuits, and inclinations, the aforesaid mothers of
daughters felt a proportionate and affectionate interest. He was
very young, to be sure, and was still pursuing his studies at Eton,
preparatory to the university ; but youth was a deficiency which
every day helped to supply ; and as the Dowager Lady Baitwell
prudently remarked at church one Sunday to her daughter. Lady
Hookem, who, with a family of five daughters, was naturally
filled with much maternal anxiety for their establishment in life,
^* There was nothing like taking a young man in time." The
fidelity of history compels the mention that the object of these
anticipatory manoeuvres was ardently engaged at that moment in
arranging a steeple-chase with leaping-poles, at which his lord-
ship distinguished himself by so prodigious a jump, that the fame
of the exploit still lives in the memory of the Eton boys, ever
ready to do honour to glorious achievements. — But a different
scene now demands attention.

In a garret of a house in one of the streets leading out of the
busy thoroughfare of Oxford-street, sat a young girl busily en-
gaged with her needle. She was alone. The furniture of the
room was very scanty, but decent and clean. A plain deal
table, three common chairs ranged against the wall, a wooden

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOIU 107

dock, small and time-worn; an old guitar — an unusual orna-
ment — standing in a corner'; a half-open cupboard, revealing
some humble instruments of cooking; — nothing more. There
was one arm-chair, however, standing out, and apparently occu-
pied but recently, which gave evidence of another inmate of the
humble abode, of a more advanced age ; a surmise which a pair
of tortoise-shell spectacles lying on the table seemed to verify.
But at the moment the young girl was alone.

She plied her needle busily and steadily, but with a hand that
seemed &tigued. Presently the little clock struck ^^ six." She
laid down her work, and raised up her head with an anxious
look. ^^What," she exclaimed, thinking aloud, " can keep
dear mamma so long ?"

It was impossible to view the countenance of that young girl
without feeling deeply interested, llcr age was between sixteen
and seventeen; not more than seventeen, certainly; — perhaps not
so much. Iler features were decidedly girlish, though contem-
plative ; but her form approached the maturity of womanhood.
There was something in her shape at once slender and soft, which
inspired the beholder with the idea of lightness — of grace— -of
elegance. Her eyes were large, brilliant, and black ; — her hair,
which hung over her shoulders in youthful curls, was dark as jet,
forming a striking contrast with a skin of alabaster fairness. But
in that beautiful face there was an expression of melancholy
which seemed to tell a tale of many and early sorrows. It was
not the sadness which a crushed heart fixes on the countenance
of despairing grief; nor was there mingled with it the slightest
tinge of the bitterness of unavailing repentance; — it was the
melancholy of poetry; pure, and innocent of ill; in which were
mixed no evil thoughts ; not the indication of the presence of
pain, but of the absence of joy. It was a melancholy that in-
spired in the beholder only interest in its object; — the sympathy
and the pity that is akin to love.

The sun shone brightly, and illumined the apartment with its
cheerful rays. It was in early May. The young girl felt its
genial influence. She rose up, and longed, like a young fawn,
to be bounding over hill and plain. But she was cramped and
confined in a gloomy house, in a small room, in the heart of a
great city. She sat down; and leaning her head upon her hand,
gave way to thought.

She thought of her strange and mysterious fate. How sad to

i2

108 FANNY^ TUE LITTLE MILLINEli:

think of I She often indulged in such dreamy musings; — it was
wrong; — she knew it was wrong — as her dear mamma told her,
to make herself sad with conjectures and wonderings which
could turn to no good; which only saddened her, and which
prevented wholesome thoughts. But still she could not help it ; —
her story was so very strange ! Not to have any clue to the mys-
tery of her parents I Without a relation ; without a friend, save
one ! If she had only a brother or a sister ! But she was alone
in the world; — quite alone ! What a sad destiny I

She took from her bosom a small gold cross, which she wore
suspended by a black ribbon round her neck. Again, as she
had often done before, she viewed it over and over again. . She
kissed it devoutly.

" Perhaps," she said — and while she spoke she seemed
startled by the sound of her own voice — " this cross belonged
. to my mother ? Francesca ! — and that, perhaps, was my mother's
name ? Mother ! Oh ! what would I not give to see her only
once! But that can never be. — But why not? She may be
yet alive, and I may live to see her — to know her — to be acknow-
ledged as her child ! Oh, this is too much ! I am foolish ; but
still there is hope; I dare not abandon hope; better lose life
than hope ; — it is the food on which I live ; my solace ; my sup-
port. — I must hope, vain though my hope may be I" Saying
this, the young girl covered her eyes with her small and
delicate hands, as if she would repress her useless tears. A tap
at her chamber door roused her. " It is dear mamma !" she said ;
*^ but the door is not fastened!"

" It is mc," said a cheerful female voice, from the outside ;
" do open the door, my dear Fanny !" And as she made this re-
quest, the applicant for admission opened the door herself and
entered.

" Is it you, Julia ? I thought it was dear mamma come home.
What can keep her away so long ?"

" Oh, never mind your mamma, mj^ dear; you are quite
mamma-sick. Look at this — here's a beautiful handkerchief!
Did you ever see such a love ? Mrs. Styche has given it to me
to trim with this lace, and to work a coronet in the corner. It
belongs to Lady Sarum ; she's a viscountess, and Lord Sarum
will be an carl when his father dies. I heard Mrs. Styche say,
that we shall have plenty of work to do for her great ladyship,
for she has been rusticating in the country for I don't know how

on, Tllli lUCII AND THE POOU. 109

lung, and Lady Suriim hasn't n thing fit to be seen ; and that
Lord Sariim, she says, is such a mope, and so jealous ! He shuts
bis wife up in an old castle he has got somewhere, and wont let
her see anybody. But they are all come to town now, and
there are to be great doings. No young men ; only one son —
a hobbedchoy, at school. Ah I my deiu*, I wish we were
viscountesses, with plenty of money, don't you ? We wouldn't
be wearing out the ends of our fingers with stitchmg, would
we?"

" I wish I was anything, almost, but what I am I" replied
Fanny.

" La I my dear, you're quite sentimental to-day ; and, I de-
clare, if you have not been crjing ! Ah, you need not wave
your long eyelashes up and down that way ; you've been crying,
that's a fact ! Now, tell me what it has been about, there's a
dear creature ! I do like so to hear love stories. Something to
do with that bit of black ribbon round your neck, I dare say :
it looks very suspicious, my dear. When there's a bit of ribbon
round the neck, it is always to be supposed that there is some-
thing tied to the end of it."

" There is nothing," replied Fanny, " but a little cross, which
is my only chance of finding out something of my history'."

" Your history I — what, have you got a history, and not seven-
teen yet ? And here am I, almost eighteen, without any history
at all — except that I am a poor soldier's daughter, obliged to
earn her bread by her needle. Sad work, Fanny ! Always
stitch, stitch, stitch !

" Your father was a captain in the army, was he not ?"

" Yes, my dear — a captain of horse ; and that's a grade higher
than a captain of foot, in this world of distinctions. But I can
only just remember him ; for he died, as I think I have told you
before, when I was quite a child. But don't make me talk of
anything melancholy ; it is. as much as I can do to keep up my
spirits ; and if it was not for me and my cheerfulness, my poor
mother would never hold up her head. A soldier's daughter,
Fanny, should have courage ; but it requires a good deal of it to
reconcile oneself to the change from Julia Makepeace, the
officer's daughter, to Miss Makepeace, the milliner's workwoman.
Well, we must make the best of it. But your history? my
dear. Gracious me ! I have been forgetting your history all the
time. Come, do tell me all about it. It will do to pass away

110 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

the time till Mrs. Sidney comes back. Begin about the cross,
there's a dear creature I How did you get it? Who gave it to
you? What has it to do with your history ? But first let me
see it. You know, my love, there should be no secrets between
such fiiends as we are."

" This is it ; but it will not help you much to my strange
story."

" My goodness, but it's very pretty ! What's this ? Fran-
cesca I Oh, that's your name, and that is why they call you
Fanny. I see. Francesca I What a nice name ! But it is not
quite an English name, my dear ; it is an Italian one. Fran*-
cesca I Francesca ! How very odd. It seems to me that I
have heard that name before, when I was a little thing ; or else
I have read something about it, or dreamed something about it.
I'm a capital dreamer. I'll tell you some of my dreams, some
day. Such nice dreams! Only one wakes, and finds it all
nothing. — Francesca I I'm sure I've heard something about that
name before. Well, it don't matter; the name is a very nice one,
at any rate ; but a foreign one, decidedly."

" Whether it is my name or not, strange to say, I do not
know ; but I believe it is ; and it is the name which Mrs. Sidney
has always given to me "

" Not know your own name ? My dear, stop a moment ; —
you quite take away my breath! Is not Mrs. Sidney your
mother?"

" No ; — though she has well performed a mother's part towards
me. It was to her care, happily, that I was committed when I
was saved firom the sea."

" Saved from the sea !— how dreadful ! Mrs. Sidney not your
mother ! Gracious, what a delightful mystery ! Why, it's quite
a romance aheady. Oh, I must hear all about it, or I shall die !
And a gold cross, too ! What a love of a mystery ! Oh, tny
dear, you never can be so cruel as not to tell me all about it ?
There, I have taken off my bonnet ; and I'll sit in this great
chair;— no, I wont take my scarf off. Pretty, isn't it? It is
chilly yet And now, my dear, if you have any love for me,
begin."

" I am afiraid you will be disappointed."

** Oh, no ; I'm sure I shall be delighted. Now, go on."

" You will find it nothiiig, after all."

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. Ill

" Now, don't provoke me ; don't you see I am dying to hear
all about it r

^^ Well, I will begin from the beginning."

^ Begin anywhere, my dear — before the beginnings if you
like— only begin."

CHAPTER XV.

TANHt's STOBT. — THE PBIVATIONS AND SUFFEBINGS OF THE POOE.— MEWS.

" My remembrance is very confused/' Fanny began, " with
respect to the early events of my life. I can just recollect a
great splashing of water ; but Mrs. Sidney has told mc since that
the vessel in which I had been taken to America was wrecked
off New York, and nearly all on board were lost."

" How very dreadful I My dear, try if you can find me a
fine needle : I can go on with this handkerchief while you
talk. Well — and you were saved ?"

" Yes ; with, I believe, two others. I think some went away
in a boat, but they were never heard of. One of the men
saved, besides me, was the captain; and he said, my dear
mamma has told me, that a man and a woman accompanied me
of the name of Lacey ; the man was young, and the son of the
woman; but the captain said he was sure she was not my
mother, for the young man often said so."
**Then who was your mother?"

"I have never known. — It seems that the young man was
obliged to fly from England, in consequence of his having been
engaged in some rebellion, by which his life was endangered
But why it was that they had taken me with them I do not .
know. The captain said that it could not have been firom any
bad motive; for the yoimg man was very fond of me, and used
to say that, as he had saved my life> he would never abandon

me."

** Saved your life I What a curious story I Well— -and what
then?"

" That is all I know about that part of my story. The in-
habitants of New York were very kind to the captain and the

112 FANNY^ TUE LITTLE MILLINER:

other man who had been saved from the wreck ; and an English
merchant of ihc name of Sidney, who was established there^
took me home to his wife^ and said that, as they had no
children, he would adopt me ; and with them I remained for
eleven years, till they left America and returned to England."

'* But did not Mr. Sidney make inquiries about your parents
and friends?"

" Oh yes ; he wrote to England to his agent : but the owners
of the ship that was lost knew nothing about the man and
woman who took me on board, and all his inquiries ended in
nothing. Mr. Sidney was very kind, and went to great expense
in endeavouring to find out my relations. Among other things
that he did, he commissioned his agent to make inquiries at
every jeweller's shop in London, to see if any one of them had
made this little gold cross, which he wrote a description
of; but no one could give him any information about it."

<*Andisthatall?"

" I told you that I had very little to tell, and the remainder
of my story is soon finished. On his return to England, the
good Mr. Sidney engaged in some speculations about American
stock, which I do not understand, and lost all his money ; — and
shortly after, he died."

"Gracious! how shocking I It's a terrible thing, my dear,
to lose your money. Nothing is to be done in this world
without money, as poor mamma says; and gentility without
money is worst of all. Well, it's of no use to fret Don't this
lace look beautiful ? I wish I was a countess, if it was only to
have such loves of handkerchiefs. And so, of course, you have
been in great distress since poor Mr. Sidney died?"

" We have, indeed ! I cannot tell you the privations which we
have been obliged to suffer ; but I thank God that I am able to
earn sufficient to support my dear, good mamma. She spared
no money to give me a good education, while she had it; and I
will spare no labour to return the obligations which I am under
to her who has been a mother to me."

" Poor child I Well, your's is a sad story, indeed. Not to
know even who were your parents ! Do you know, my dear
Fanny, I fancy that cross will' be the mean$ of your finding out
your parents, after all ? How was it that it was not lost in the
shipwreck?" . • ,

" It was found securely tied to my neck when I was picked

oily TUB RICH AND THE POOR. 113

up ; and it is supposed tbat it was i)uq)osc]y done by those who
had mc in their care, for the pur{)osc of assisting in identify-
ing me."

" To be sure it was 1 How hicky it was not lost I Why, my
dear, you are quite a heroine ! Only tliink ; here's a little
milliner the heroine of a novel ! We shall hold up our heads
higher after this. Oh, if it could only be that you were the
deserted child of some great lord ; and that at last he discovers

his long-lost daughter, and clasiw her in his arms, and then

Gracious I how provoking — I have spoiled the coronet in the
comer, listening to your story. Sec, I have made an earl's
coronet, instead of a viscount's. Well, never mind ; only a
little more work. But that Mrs. Styche is so very particular.
Come, my dear, help one a little. Just work this coronet for
me ; you do things so neatly.*'

" I never worked a coronet before," replied the good-natured
Fanny ; " but I will try to do this one."

" Dear me I how quick you work it, and beautifully too.
Why, my dear, you could not have done it better if you had
worked it for yourself! Just hold it so, and let me sec how it
looks. La! how nice, isn't it? I declare you look like a
countess yoiu*self I Ah me ! if these great people knew how
little we get for doing these fine things for them, they would be
ashamed to flourish them about as they do ! Don't you think so^
my dear?"

" It is a hard life," replied Fanny, with a sigh, " to earn one's
bread by this little thing," holding up her needle ; " but there
are many much worse off than you or I."

" My dear, I never could have believed what I have seen,
if I had not seen it with my own eyes. You know that tall,
pale girl, who used to work extra hours, and sometimes all night,
at Mrs. Styche's. What do you think, my dear? — ^it is very
shocking ; she is dying — the doctor says — from want of sufficient
food ; — ^literally starved to death ! All that she could earn, with
all her work, extra hours and all, was only eight shillings a-weekl
Without father or mother to take care of her; and without
relations ; all dead I she lived entirely by herself. How melan-
choly ! And obliged to dress genteelly, that she might not
discredit the establishment. Just think ; what could she do
with eight shillings a-week ?"

" And sometimes, perhaps, not even that,"

114 FAMNT, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

" But suppose/' continued Julia, ^^that she could earn eight
shillings a-week all the year round, how could she live on it ?
First, there's rent for a lodging. You can't get a furnished
room that's at all decent under three shillings a-week. Then
there's fire — say fourpence a-week, one week with another. She
can't do without light — there's candles and soap, sixpence a-week;
you couldn't do with less. Then there's bread — we ought to
have begun with that ; — what a pity it is we can't live without
eating I How much shall we put down for bread ? — two half-
quartern loaves a-week ? — no, that's not enough ; we must say
three — that's a shilling ; she must help herself out with potatoes ;
say fourpence a-week for potatoes. We must let her have a
morsel of butter with her bread and potatoes ; a penny a day
for butter. Then there's tea; tea is as necessary for a poor
girl almost as bread; she couldn't drink cold water always;
but we can't put down much for that ; suppose two ounces of
tea a-week, that's sixpence."

" Two ounces of tea would not be enough to last for fourteen
times."

" She must make it do," replied Julia. " You must pttt
down sugar, half-a-pound a-week, that's threepence halfpenny.
What else ? What a quantity of things^ one does want to live at
all I I wonder how Adam and Eve contrived 1 Oh I milk ;
a farthing, morning and evening ; that's a heavy sum for milk !
threepence-halfpenny a-week. But we have not put down
anything for meat; one can't live altogether on bread; and
meat is so dear, isn't it? What a little bit half-a-pound is
when it is cooked; I'm sure I can eat it up in a minute I
Suppose we put down sevenpence a-week for meat; that is
for one pound, so that she can have half-a-pound twice
a-week."

" You forget her shoes and her dress."

" Only think, that I should forget her dress ! Well, she must
have shoes, that's certain ; she can't walk about the streets with-
out shoes ; and you can get nothing to do service under five
and sixpence a pair. What a sum of money ! And it's so wretched
to sit in wet shoes all day, isn't it ? — especially when they are
thin; and one's foot looks so large in a thick shoe, don't it? I
can't bear thick shoes. But with only eight shillings a-week,
you must wear what you can get. And, oh I my dear, never

OB, THE BICH AKD THE POOR* 115

wear tight shoes — you needn't, because you have such a little
foot — ^I heard Mrs. Styche's medical man say that tight shoes
give you a red nose ; how horrible ! I had my shoes stretched
directly. But where were we ? Oh 1 about the shoes. Well,
she can't do with less than four pair of shoes a-year ; that is, four
fives IS twenty, and four sixpences — two shillings ; one pound
two shillings ; how much is that a-wcek ?"

This arithmetical question, involving a sum in the mysterious
rule of three at all times so puzzling to the fair sex, whether of
high or low degree, caused a temporary embarrassment in the
calculations. But the lively Julia presently solved the problem
after her own fashion — that is to say, in the way usually adopted
by " lady" calculators.

" Let me sec :— oh, it's very easy ; it's one paur a-quarter, and
that's five and sixpence ; and, let me see : — five and sixpence
a-quarter — that's three months — ^is one shilling a-month, and
two-and-sixpence more ; that's five sixpences and three months ;
five sixpences in three months, — Fanny, what is that a-week?
Can't you tell ?"

" Five sixpences in three months ? that is one sixpence for
each month, and two sixpences over."

"To be sure it is; and then the two sixpences in three
months is — is — let me see : two sixpences in three months is —
what is it, Fanny ?"

'' That is twelvepence ; fourpence a-month."

** To be siure : fourpence a month, what's that altogether?'*

** One shilling and sixpence and fourpence ; one and tenpencc
a-month."

" La I how tii'esome it is to calculate when the months and
the money are so contrary, isn't it ? And now we have not made
out what it is a-week? Stop: I can do it: — I generally calcu-
late very quick when it is money coming to myself} but some-
how this is so very puzzling, isn't it ? Stop : let me see j one
and tenpence is twelve and ten — that is, two tens — twenty — ^and
two, twenty-two: twenty-twopence, and four weeks ; — that is, for
a week — what is it? Fanny, why don't you try?"

« Twenty-two pence in four weeks is fivepence and one half-
penny a-week."

"b it? Well, put that down for shoes. Now for dress;
stockings and collars — and — all that;"

116 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

" llalf-a-crown a-weck would be very little. But then it is to
be presumed that she knows how to make up her things cheaply.
Say half-a-crown a-week."

" Gracious I I shall never have done ! But a girl can't dress
herself so neatly as she is required to do for half-a-crown a- week."

" See what it all comes to already* But you have allowed
nothing for extras ; a letter now and then.''

" Oh I you sly puss ! What bushiess has she with letters ; no
brother nor sister; no relations; no cousin even; who is there to
write letters to her, except improper ones? Fanny, I'm ashamed
of you."

" But put down something for extras; — or call them accidents,
if you will ; — suppose illness."

" Oh I nonsense ; poor people can't afford to be ill. Add it
up, and see what it all comes to ? I hate adding up ; it makes
one's eyes so red."

" The whole comes to ten shillings and fourpence halfpenny,'
reported Fanny.

" Gracious ! tliat's more than eight shillings a-week ! — more
than she has to lay out We have put down too much for some-
thing. Let me sec : she must have bread, and potatoes, and a
bit of meat ; and lodging ; and fire ; and some clothes and shoes ;
and soap and candles. What do those things come to ?"

" Eight shillings and eightpence halfpenny."

** Gracious! that's too much; and there's nothing left for tea
and sugar, and milk and butter — never mind the butter, it makes
a young lady gross — we must leave out the meat. What will that
leave her?"

" That will make it eight shillings and a penny halfpenny."

" Still too much. She must have a little tea and sugar ; you
must leave out the potatoes and salt ; how does it stand now ?"

"Seven shillings and ninepence halfpenny spent; twopence
halfpenny left."

" That wont go far to buy tea, sugar, and milk ; and a little
she must have. Take a shilling off her clothes. How does it
stand now ?"

" One must have clothes, Julia ; there's a cloak wanted for the
winter, and clogs, and an umbrella ; you can't take anything off
her clothes."

" But that only leaves twopence-halfpenny for tea, sugar, milk,
and butter; and we have not lefl anything for an atom of mcat^

OR^ THE RICH AND TUE TOOB. 117

nor potatoes ; she can have nothing hut dry bread to eat, and
not enough of that ; and nothing for accidents."

" My dear Fanny, it is impossible to live on that. To have
nothing but dry bread to eat, and to be obliged to work hard
besides ; sewing all day, and every day, and for fourteen and
sixteen hours a-day ; and sometimes obliged to work on Sundays.
After all, sewing all day is very fatiguing, whatever people may
say ; and it makes one so sick and faint ; besides, it spoils one's
shape, and makes one's nose so long, But don't look at me so
sadly, Fanny ; you make me feel quite uncomfortable."

" Dear Julia," said Fanny, " is it not enough to make one sad
to know that a fine young girl has actually been starved to death
in the midst of this great and wealthy city ? And her fate may
be mine — or yours !"

" It's very shocking, certainly ; but what can we do to help
her? We are as poor as she is."

" That makes it more sad ; to know her wretchedness, and not
to be able to relieve it ; but at least we can go and see her ; sym-
pathy and kind words are something."

" That I will, Fanny ; we will go to her this verj' evening ;
and we can try to take her something nice — some tea and white
sugar. Now don't look so melancholy, Fanny. What good does it
do to be melancholy ? Thank Heaven ! I have always good
spirits. Where's your glass ? What a mite of ghiss yours is ! —
one can only see oneself bit by bit in it, I wish I was rich, if it
was only to have a glass to see oneself in. Oh ! there's such a
beautiful glass in Lady Sarum's boudoir. La ! my dear, shouldn't
you like to have a boudoir ? Such a love of a glass ! — one that
you can see your whole length in. I was there yesterday, and I
was tired with waiting, so I got up and just tried how 1 looked
in it. And what do you think ? I was walking easy-Hke, and
looking over my shoulder so — for I wanted to see how my scarf
set behind — when I saw a man's face in the glass I I was so
ashamed I couldn't move ; and there I stood like a simpleton.
Dreadful, wasn't it? How long he had been amusing himself
with looking at me parading up and down, I'm sure I don't know ;
but I know I wished the floor would open and swallow me up.
However, it was only Lord Sarum ; he's quite an old man, my
dear; such grey hair! And when I found courage to turn
round and try to say something — I don't know what — he looked
at me with such a sad expression — there — just as you look now;

118 rANNT, THE UTTLE lOIiLINER:

and then he apologized for disturbing me, and went away. But
there's some one at the door; — ^your mamma, I suppose?" As
she uttered these words, Mrs. Sidney entered ; and from the
bustling expression of her countenance, it was evident that she
was the bearer of some important news.

*^ Some news for you, my dear Fanny," said the respectable
old lady, as she established herself in the arm-chair which the
vivacious Julia had deferentially vacated on her entrance.
** Now, my dear child, come, guess what it is ?"

CHAPTER XVI.

UOPE AND DISAFPOINTBfENT. — A KUTD BESOLYE.— A GOOD ACTION

8BU>OM G0S8 UNBEWABDBD.

Poor Fanny, whose head was full of vague and painful
thoughts, which the relation of her story to her young com-
panion had excited, respecting her own mysterious £ite, was
instantly struck with the idea that some discovery had. been
made of her parents. She was not in a fit state to bear a
violent shock. Her feelings had been deeply affected by the
account of the distress in which one of her own class was lying
helpless ; reflecting as in a mirror her own wretched and pre-
carious condition, and prophetic, perhaps, of the same miserable
end. It was with extraordinary agitation, therefore, that she
received the sudden announcement of " good news." The
^ good news" that she was ever thinking of — longing for — ^pray-
ing for— was news of her parents. That one hope was her
dominant feeling ; with that hope she bore all her present pri«>
vations ; on that hope she fed. She loved her adopted parent ;
she felt for her all the devotion which gratitude added to love
can inspire in a generous heart ; but Mrs. Sidney was not her
mother ; she was all else ; but that magic name was wanting. The
child yearned to know its parents ; it was not a mental thirsty
which thought, or reason, or aigument, could quench ; it was
not a question of reason ; it was one of feeling ; of instinct.
There was a void in her heart; a blank in her existence. The
terrible feeling of loneliness assailed her. She stood single and

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 119

apart from all the world. No one owned her. Excepting
her adopted mother now far advanced in years, there was no
other human being to whom her affections naturally could turn ;
nay, she had not even the melancholy solace of letting them rest
on the memory of the dead; for she had never known her
parents. To a sensitive mind, and to an enthusiastic tempera-
ment — which the young girl possessed — this was a continual
torture. The gnawing at her heart was ever at work. A cor-
roding care preyed on her unceasingly. One thought reigned
paramount ; the mystery of her parents ; — to discover them was
the object of her life.

Filled with this thought, she fixed her eyes on her adopted
parent with an intense and almost wild gaze ; her features were
pale and rigid as marble ; stretching forth her hands, her open-
ing lips suggested the question she could not ask.

" My dear child," exclaimed the good old lady, '* I have done
wrong to speak of good news to you so suddenly ; I know what
you are thinking of; — no, it is not that; — but it is good news,
nevertheless."

Fanny's countenance fell ; she clasped her hands, and bending
down her head, gave way to silent tears.

" My poor child 1 my poor, dear child 1 hear what I have got
to tell you; it is good news ; it is, indeed !"
Fanny shook her head.

" Do tell it, dear Mrs. Sidney," said the impatient Julia ;
*' good news don't come so often to us poor things that we should
not be glad to hear it, whatever it is. What is it ?"

" Why, you must know that I have been to Mrs. Styche's, as
I told you, Fanny, for the few shillings that are due to you ; and
who should come in but a great lady, Viscountess Sarum. Lord
Sarum, my dear, is the son of the Earl of Grandborough, and
they have come to town this season for the first time for many
years ; so Mrs. Styche has plenty of work to do for her ; for a
greater fright — in her dress that is — Mrs. Styche told me pri-
vately, she never saw."

** How odd," said Julia, " when she can have just what she
likes !"

'* The very remark Mrs. Styche made« — Well, one of her foot-
men brought in a head-dress that Lady Sarum wanted to have
made, — that is, one like it, — and it was the very one, Fanny,
that you made up last week. I knew it directly. Mrs. Styche

120 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

was not in the way when Lady Sanim came in ; but she asked
the forewoman, who was standing by nie, if they could make an-
otlier like it. I couldn't help saying, ^ My Fanny made that ;
and I am sure she could make another, if it was wanted.' Lady
Sarum smiled at me very kindly, and asked me, ' if the young
person was my daughter ?' * Not exactly,' I said ; * but she is
my adopted daughter.' Then she asked, if you would take the
trouble to call on her with the head-dress, when it was done, that
she might point out any alterations that she might like to have.
I saw that the forewoman frowned at this. But what could I
do ? I could only say, * Certainly you would call on her, and
that I would call with you.' * Let it be so, then,' said Lady
Sarum to the forewoman ; and so it was settled ; for, of course,
they did not dare to disoblige a great lady by making any
objection. And here are the materials, my dear, which I have
brought with me ; for it is to be done by to-morrow without
fail. And I call it a lucky thing; if you happen to please Lady
Sarum, it will be a credit to you at Mrs. Styche's establishment,
and it may do you good — you can't tell in what way : — ^and
that's my good news, my dear."

" I can't bear going to those great houses," said Fanny ; " the
servants look at one so. I do tliink the porters that stand in.the
halls are the most dreadful monsters in the world! But, of
course, you will go with me, mamma ?"
. " To be sure ; my love ; there can be no harm in that."

" Good bye," Fanny," said Julia. "How lucky that you are
to do something for Lady Sarum ; we shall both be employed
for the same house ; it will be so handy, wont it ? I suppose
you can't go to see the poor girl this evening, as you have work
to do."

" I shall certainly go," replied Fanny. " It is our duty, dear
Julia. How can we expect any one to help us, if we do not help
one another. Poor girl I if this Lady Sarum gives me the oppor-
tunity, I will try to interest her to do something for her."

"Ah, my dear Fanny," replied Julia, "great ladies very
seldom interest themselves about poor milliner girls. We may
toil and slave, and wear but our eyes and constitutions, and spoil
our shapes, to make their persons attractive ; but little thought
do they give to us who starve and die while they revel in their
dress and tlicir luxuries. They consider us as mere instruments
and machines for administering to their pleasures."

ORj THE RICH AND THE POOIU 121

" I will not believe it," said Fanny, energetically ; " I cannot
believe it Think of that poor girl pining alone in her garret,
without a shilling in the world to buy necessary food ! Surely
the rich — the high and noble ladies of the land — cannot be
aware of the unceasing toil, the privations, and the unspeakable
sufferings which those of their own sex daily and hourly undergo
in their forced and debilitating labours. And some of them^ too,
the daughters of those of their own rank. You, Julia, are a
captain's daughter; and a captain in the army is a gentleman of
a rank to associate with the highest in the kingdom ; and now,
what are you ? — a poor milliner girl, working for your daily
bread."

The lively Julia burst into tears.

" It is so, Julia ; you arc a lady born and bred, with as delicate
feelings and as high feelings as the rich viscountess whose hand*
kerchief you have to your eyes."

" Dear me ! I didn't think of what I was doing. Well, it's
better to have something for use instead of for show, after all.
This rag of a thing is of no use when you want to have a good
crj."

" If such tears as those could only reach the hearts of the
owners of such fineries ! I am sure I feel that if I was a lady of
rank, and money, and influence, instead of the poor and humble
thing that I am ; — I am sure I could not lay my head in peace on
my pillow, if I had not done my best to relieve the many aching
heads and desolate hearts that seek for rest in vain — wanting
food to sustain the body, and hope to support the mind. But
perhaps I say so because I know their miseries so well ! Riches
might harden my heart, as they seem to harden the hearts of
others ; but I do not think they would."

" I am sure they would not, my dear child," exclaimed the
affectionate Mrs. Sidney ; " but I confess I cannot understand
the meaning of a great deal that I see in the world; I
suppose there is a use for it ; but all I can say is, I can't under-
stand it It seems to me that there must be something wrong in
a state of society where such extremes of wealth and poverty
exist ; where some are so very rich, and so many are so very
poor. Is it that in order that some may be very rich indeed,
that a great many must be very poor indeed ? I can't make it
out ; but, for my part, I can't see the use of it ; and as to the
prosperity and wealth of the country, as it is called, I must say, I

K

122 FANNY, THE LITTLE HILLINEE:

don't see what good comes of it Some few may find their
account in it, but to my poor understanding, if the greater part
of the individuals of a country are to be in want and wretched-
ness, to enable the few at the top to add riches to riches for their
own benefit, it's not a state of things that ought to be, and I
wont believe it was ever so intended. There — that's what I say,"

" My dear Mrs. Sidney," cried out the vivacious Julia, " you
talk like a book. Well, I take things as they come; it's of no use
to fret This evening, then, Fanny, we shall pay our visit to the
poor girl together."

*^ I will go, certainly," said Fanny. " If we can give nothing
else, we can give consolation ; and we can speak kind words to
her ; that is something to the wretched."

" True," said the old lady. " Always remember, my dear girl,
if ever you should be rich, that kind words go more to the hearts
of the poor than cold charity."

" It's all very well," cried the vivacious Julia^ putting on her
bonnet, and dodging her head at the Lilliputian glass, in which
she could catch glimpses of her pretty face only in fragmental
portions, ^^ but I'm very much inclined to think that the kindest
words that ever were used are much pleasanter to poor people,
when accompanied by substantial assistance. How do you like
this trimming, Fanny ? As dear mamma says, people may be
ever so virtuous and economical, but they can't live without
money."

While such interchange of sentiments took place in this humble
abode of virtuous poverty, a very different scene was presented at
the splendid mansion of the Earl of Grandborougb, in
Square.

CHAPTER XVII.

DINNEB FABTT AT LORD GBANDB0B0U0H*8. — THE EXQUISITE.— THE
C0NVEB8ATI0N. — SUDDEN DISTUBBANCE.

The Earl had taken it into his head to give a grand entertain*
ment that day, and the distinguished company was assembled in
that complacent sort of good*humour and readiness to oblige
which people, usually display when called on to fulfil the daily

OR» THE BICH AND THE POOR. 123

duty of dining. Lord Grandborough sat as one of his son's
goestSy having retired long since from the active duties of host,
from the performance of which his age and infirmities, and it
may be added, an occasional absence of mind and an eccen-
tricity of manner, had in some degree disqualified him. Lord
and Lady St Austin were glad to assist in this family and
friendly reunion ; and among other acquaintances, the Dowager
Lady Baitwell, celebrated for her skill in social diplomacy, and
her daughter. Lady Hookem, herself the anxious parent of mar-
riageable girls, did themselves the honour to attend. Lady
Hookem had the satisfaction to be accompanied by her son, the
Honourable Mr. Snob, not the least conspicuous of the com-
pany, and known in the fashionable world as an exquisite of the
most ultra cast; and who had condescended, on this special
occasion, to depart from his usual rule of never appearing in
public with the vulgar members of his own family. It is to this
distinguished individual that the world is indebted for the esta-
blishment of the curious precedent of a man having the right to
cut his own father. It was on account of the unaristocratic ap-
pearance of his paternal parent that the Honourable Mr. Snob
felt himself compelled, as he delicately expressed it, to ** de-
cline acknowledging a gentleman who was in other respects a
very worthy man, but whose personal pretensions were not such
as to warrant his considering himself a fit companion for a man
of fashion." In truth, the mien and physiognomy of the unpre-
tending peer was sufficiently homely almost to justify the decided
course of proceeding adopted by his son. He had unconsciously
preserved, with much faithfulness, the air and the style of dress
in use by his own respedtable father, who, having accumulated
an immense fortune by trade, had been raised to the peerage.
It was to him — the grandfather — that a provoked wit made the
celebrated retort on the occasion of his boasting of his wealth
before some members of the upper house, who were richer in
lineage than ready money, ** that the minister had not done
justice to his merits in making him a baron — ^he ought to have
made him a bishop."

"And why so?" asked the newly ennobled Croesus.

" Because," replied the other, " you had been accustomed to
wear the apron."

This little anecdote, however, was forgotten in the third gene-
ration, except by very intimate friends; and the Honourable

k2

124 FANUT, THE LITTLB MILUKBR :

Maximilian Alexander Tbeodosius Snob considered himself on
a level with the descendants of the primitive barons of the em-
pire ; and as a leader in the world of fashion, he plumed himself
on being infinitely superior to men who could boast only of dis-
tinctions in parliament or in the service of the state, but who
went about in ill-made coats, and were uninitiated in the art of
fashionable tics.

Of a very different character was the young Earl Manley.
Despising the frivolous pursuits of many of the idle members of
the aristocracy, he had devoted himself to study, and to the deep
and solemn question of the physicial and mental amelioration of
the labouring classes. Sincere in his opinions, ardent in his
desire to do good, and enthusiastic in his endeavours to promote,
by the influence of his rank and wealth, the progress of improve-
ment, and to make mankind wiser, better, and happier, he stood
out in bright relief from the mass of the thoughtless and selfish of
his own order, and proved by the influence of his example how
much can be done by a single individual resolving to do all the
good in his power, and firm in his determination to effect it. It
was to this most incongenial mind that Mr. Snob thought fit
before dinner to communicate the good fortune which had
befallen him that very day : —

"You may say what you please, Manley, but London is the
place for adventures, after all ; no place like London ! To be
sure, the English women have not the toumure of the French,
but for the perfection of the mere animal they are far superior.
It was only this morning that I met the most fascinating little
creature that eyes ever beheld ; young — eighteen or so — blonde^
grands yeux bleusy but the most wicked-looking that ever peeped
out of a milliner's bonnet"

« Indeed."

" She came out of a milliner's place, rather gaily dressed, but
tant soit peu fsidcd, — ^you understand; but that's all the better.
She couldn't help looking at me, (here Mr. Snob surveyed
himself with much complacency,) and the little devil smiled —
she did indeed — ^it was almost a laugh — and so I followed her."

" Oh 1"

" Yes ; I know its not quite comme il fcmt to let oneself
down that way ; I ought to have made my tiger do it. But I
was on foot, and, veritablement, she was the prettiest little thing

on, TUE RICH AND THE POOR. 125

you ever saw, although she was only a milliners girl, I sup-
pose."

'' Very likely."

" She went down Oxford-street— just the place, you know, for
an adventure — c^est h rendezvous des grisettes. She did not go
far, luckily for me, for my boots pinched me dreadfully, and I
was not in walking trim."

** Is that all?"

" I just blew a petit haiser to her from the tip of my finger as
she got to the door of a poor-looking house ; but the little minx
chose to look virtuous, and she gave me such a look with her
great blue eyes, that, by George, it made me feel quite uncom-
fortable. I suppose the mamma was on the watch, and so it was
a coup manque for that time ; but nous verrons.^^

The pleasing announcement of dimier, always a welcome
relief to the restraint and stiffness of the preliminary muster in
the drawing-room, put a stop to further confidences on this deli-
cate topic.

"You will like that hock, Manley. There's your favourite
sherry!" to Lord St. Austin. "Lady Baitwell, I hope my
father takes care of you."

" What is going on in the house to-night ?"

"Adjourned, I believe," said Lord Grandborough ; "but I
seldom attend. Ministers have my proxy."

" French chambers seem to be noisy."

" It's only noise ; the war party are trying to get up a casus
belli against England, as usual ; but it will all end in nothing."

" War — bad thing — always better avoided "

" Horrid jobbing during the last war."

" It is very shocking to read of the killed and wounded at a
battle," remarked Lady Hookeni.

"I can recommend these pigeons aux peiits poix.^^

" Opera good this season ?"

" Very."

" Some tendency to riots in the country, I hear."

" It's the old story— striking for wages."

" Very improper ; but the labouring people are so unthankful."

"I agree with you, sir; the agitation that the newspapers
are getting up again about the rich and the poor is mischievous
in the extreme,"

((
((

126 FANNY, THE UTTLB BIILLINER :

" State of the country"

"Taglioni"

"Agricultural labourers"

''TagUoni"

Manufacturing districts"

TagUoni"

" Condition of the poor"

"TagUoni"

" Periodical distress"

"Taglioni"

" Serious questions" ......

" The great question is, which is * la reine de la danse — Tag-
Uoni or Duvemay?'"

" Cerito is getting on" *

" The attention of the house ought to be called to the sub-
ject"

"They don't pay sufficient attention to the choruses"......

*^ Very true, sir ; the poor of this country are too fond of in-
dulging in spirituous liquors"

Champagne — Mousseux ?"
No ; I prefer the still."

Lord Manley, I see you are to bring forward the factory
question again. Anything be done ?"

"It is cheap manufactures versus humanity," said Lord
Manley. " I am afraid the country is not prepared yet to take
up the question as one of justice to the industrious poor. The
distress in the manufacturing districts forms a fidghtful picture."

** Talking of pictures," said the watchfol Lady Sfioiim, ** I
think I saw you at the great sale to-day ; adding to your store,
I presume. Anything worth buying ?"

" I was tempted to buy one picture ; a fancy sketch — artist
unknown."

"Pretty subject?"

The contrast of colours must be veiy pleasing."
Very: but what struck me most was the extraordinary
beauty of the countenance. The more I look at it, the more I
admire it"
" Yoimg, of course."
" Quite a girl. I was surprised that no one else saw its

it

OB, THB RICH AND THE POOR. 127

value; but it had no great name to back it, so I picked it
up for a trifle. I assure you I am quite in love with it.''

'^Lord Grandborough, do you hear this?" said the dowager,
raising her voice, and calling his attention to the young peer's
declaration. ^^ Young fellows now-a-^ys fall in love with
pictures instead of originals : it was not so in our time."

^* You are a great collector of pictures, I am told," said Lord
Grandborough ; " so is Lord Sarum — he is very fond of pic-
tures."

" What is the subject, Manley ?" asked Lord Sarum, joining
in the conversation, and wishing to draw his young friend out
Lord Manley was an especial favourite with Lord Sarum, and
one of the very few who had been encouraged to relieve the
gloomy dulness at Grandborough castle by his cheerful society —
"What is the subject?"

" Only a yomig girl, in the habit of an Italian peasant, but
executed in admirable style ; I am inclined to think it must be
a portrait, it is so speakingly drawn. Nothing can be more
beautiful ; but the face and the eyes have something about them
singularly striking. Lady Baitwell, I see, smiles at my en-
thusiasm; but I assure you, if you were to see the picture, you
would be in love with it yourself."

" Not without my leave, I trust," interposed Lady Sarum ;
" however, as it is only a picture, pass for that."

" Lord Sarum would hardly be an admirer of my unknown
beauty," said Lord Manley, bowing to the hostess, seeing that
he is an admirer of blue eyes, and the eyes of my Italian girl
are blacL Your ladyship, therefore, need be under no un-
easiness."

** Pray don't let your lord see it, Lady Sarum," exclaimed
the dowager, " for he seems abeady troubled about those black
eyes from sympathy. Are you an admirer of the Italian style
of countenance?" she added, in a careless tone, and looking
at Lord Sarum with much composure, as she asked the
question.

" Not very much ; that is to say, it depends on circumstances ;
I mean that Italian fsices are sometimes very fascinating. You
know nothing of the history of your picture ?" turning to Lord
Manley.

" Ob, it had the usual auctioneer's history^ but I did not pay

]28 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

much attention to it The sale was said to be a lot of pictures
brought over by a connoisseur from Florence."

"Bless mel" exclaimed the dowager, in a whisper to Lord
Mauley, " what is the matter with Lord Sarum ? How exces-
sively pale he has turned ; don't you see it ?"

" Perhaps the picture revives some old recollection that
pains him," replied Lord Manley ; " we will change the subject"
* We must say something to enliven him," said the dowager ;

something to cheer him up ; he has been moping himself to
death at that old castle. Have you heard," she continued,
raising her voice, " the reply the Persian ambassador made to
Lord Crescent the other day ? Lord Sarum, I want to tell you
something droll. Crescent was inquiring about the Persian's
wives in his thoughtless way — how many he had — how he kept
them in order — and so forth. Abominable custom. Lady Sarum^
that of a man having more than one wife ; I am sure that is a
practice which your staid husband would never approve, of;
one at a time, Lord Sarum, is enough. Don't you think so ?"

"There is a story of a Spanish king," observed Lord St.
Austin, " who, to punish a man for having married two wives,
condemned him to live with them both."

" Very good — but don't stop my story. I am sure it will
amuse Lord Sarum. But it was not a bad idea, that of punish-
ing the man, was it? For my own part, I can't conceive a
more wretched condition than that of a man with more than one
vrife ; he can have no real domestic happiness. But it is non-
sense to talk of a man having two wives ; so your story does
not hold good there, my lord. A man cannot marry again in Spain
any more than in this country, his first wife being alive ; is it
not so, Lord Sarum ? — that is, unless he is divorced ; otherwise,
his second marriage is illegal. So that, properly speaking, in a
Christian country, a man can have only one wife: But these
Persians and Turks have their own ways, of course. But,
thank Heaven, we are living in England, and not in Turkey."

" I am sure we women should be against the introduction of
such a custom here," observed Lady St Austin.

" It would put a man in a pretty mess in this country," continued
the dowager — " wouldn't it. Lord Sarum ? — if he was married to
two women at the same time."

" It's a felony in law," said Lord St. Austin.

"It is transportation, isn't it? I think I have seen a^couhts

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 129

in the newspapers, of the common people marrying two wives
sometimes, and of their being sentenced to trans]>ortation ; I
mean for marrying the second woman, while the first wife was
living. Just suppose, now, that you were a Persian or a Turk ;
and that before you had married Lady Sarum, you had married
somebody else ; I say, just suppose — what would your feelings
be, if your first wife was to claim her rights? And what a con-
fusion it would make with the children. But I am forgetting
my story ; I must tell it you, it is so droll. But, bless me ! what
is the matter with my Lord Grandborough ?"

The attention of the company was instantly turned in another
direction. It seemed that the peer was suddenly seized with an
apoplectic fit The frightful appearance of his father's coun-
tenance was sufficient to account for Lord Sarum's excessive
agitation. Lord Grandborough was immediately removed to his
own chamber, and medical assistance was procured without delay.
The fit was pronounced to be severe, but not immediately
dangerous. The company, however, considerately withdrew,
and left the family to themselves.

In the course of the evening, Lord Grandborough appeared
to have entirely recovered from the attack ; and Lord Sarum,
having no fears on that head, and his desire to renew his re-
searches after Francesca having received a fresh stimulus from
the torture which had been unconsciously inflicted on him by
the merciless dowager, he announced his intention of leaving
England the next day. But first he determined to look at the
picture, which, from the description, seemed to bear a strange
resemblance to her whose image never could be erased from his
memory. He proceeded, therefore, to Lord Mauley's house on
foot, without saying to Lady Eleanor where he was going, but
determined before he slept to resolve this new mystery.

130 FAVKYj THE UTTLE UILLINEB:

CHAPTER XVHL

V
LOBD 8ABUM BECOONISES THE MT8TBBIOU8 PIGTUBE.—A PLOT IN PB0GBB8S.

It was with feelings of deep agitation, which it is impossible
for language adequately to describe, that Lord Sarum traversed
the streets, on his way to see the painting which had made so
powerful an impression on Lord Manley. More than fifteen
years had elapsed since he had seen the Italian girl, whom he
had so passionately loved, in the very costume of the mysterious
picture. It was at that time that he had attempted to have per^
petuated on canvas the brilliant traits of her remarkable beauty.
He had caused frequent inquiries to be made after this portrait by
his agent at various times, but without success* Its strange re-
appearance at the present time affected him — ^weakened as his
mind was by long years of suffering — ^with a sort of superstitious
fear. It seemed to him that the time was fast approaching when
the mystery which had so long shrouded the fate of Francesca
and of her child would at last be unravelled; and although a con-
siderable portion of his life, which had been passed in the con-
tinual agony of suspense, had been devoted to its accomplish-
ment, he now dreaded, with the anxiety of nervous trepidation^
to encounter the fact of its development. Such was his state of
mind when he arrived at Lord Manley's house.

" My lord is not returned," replied the porter, with a little
surprise^ in reply to Lord Sarum's inquiry ; " he left a little
before seven, to dine with your lordship."

" Yes ; but I expect him home presently. I will wait for him
for a few minutes, in the dining-room.''

" Certainly, my lord, as your lordship pleases.

The candles were lighted, and Lord Sarum was left alone.
He had wished to inquire about the picture which Lord
Manley had purchased that day ; but he could not bring himself
to speak of it He sat down and considered for a moment He
did not like to have it reported that he was so exceedingly
anxious to see a picture. While he was endeavouring to devise
some means of getting a sight of it without giving rise to specu-
lations as to his motives^ he raised up his head, and on the side-

OB^ THE BICH AND THE POOIL 131

board, at the &rther end of the room, he beheld a small half-
length picture, in the original wooden frame of the artist, with its
&oe turned to the wall. He started up, and stepped forward to
grasp it ; but he was seized with a convulsive trembling, which
80 shook his fi»me that he was forced to reseat himself. Pre-
sently, he advanced again, clutched the picture, and carried it to
the light, but he hesitated to turn round its face ; he trembled
to meet the eye, even in its animate image, of her whom he
longed but feared to look upon. And there he stood, motion-
less as a statue ; with eyes fixed on vacancy, with breath sus-
jfended, holding in his hand, as he felt assured, the portrait of
lier whom he had once loved so fondly, and whom he knew not
whether to number among the living or the dead ! At last, he
tremblingly turned round the picture, and revealed the image to
his sight — ^it was — Francesca ! There were those eyes of light,
those raven tresses, that face of rare and classic beauty, that
countenance of intelligence, that look at once proud and affec-
tionate, that air of nature's true nobility. A thousand recollec-
tions rushed on his mind, as he contemplated the ravishing
portrait. It seemed that in a moment more than fifteen long
years were annihilated; he felt himself transported back, in
imagination, to the sunny clime of Italy, when he first wooed and
won the proud Italian maid, and was too happy to lay his heart and
his coronet at her feet. He almost fancied he heard the melting
sweetness of her voice, when, in the language of love, she
breathed into his eager ears the confession of his conquest. The
present, with its cares and fears, was forgotten — the past only
fteemed reality. Tears that had long been frozen up, flowed
dowti his saddened cheeks. Kneeling before the portrait, which
called up all the emotions of his youthful love, he gave way to
deep and bitter grief.

But soon the stem reality of the present dissipated the mo^
inentary illusions of the past. The picture might be the clue to
the mystery of Francesca's disappearance, which it had been the
object of years of painful inquiry to cleat up. Still the
question remained — Was she living, or was she dead ? Until
the solution of that fearful mystery, there could be for him no
rest; although it might be that the discovery would prove not
less terrible than the suspense. He resolved to pursue his
inquiries the next day, at the office of the auctioneer. He re-
placed the pi(iture, with a firmness greater than he thought him-

132 FANNY, THE UTTLE MILLINER:

sclfca^i^ble oi, in the plaqc from which he had removed it; and,
thankful for not having been interrupted in his task, he left the
house to return home. But he felt his mind too much unhinged
to dare to face the affectionate inquiries of Lady Eleanor. With
the desire, therefore, to regain his calmness, he determined, as
the night was fine, to continue his walk, no matter in which
direction, until the traces of his emotion should be removed. In
this mood, chance directed his steps to Oxford-street. He
walked slowly down the street till he found himself at the end,
near St Giles's church. As the pavement at this part ceased to
be inviting, he retraced his steps, with the intention of retumixig
home. Here we must for the present leave him, as the course of
the narrative leads us to the abode of the poor girl, whom Fanny
had ^reed with Julia to visit that evening. And it is necessary,
also, to record the proceedings of Lord Manley, and the Honour-
able Mr. Snob, after their departure from Lord Sarum's house.

The Honourable Mr. Snob was not of a vicious disposition ;
he was merely a most consummate donkey, generally harmless
in his amusements. Lord Manley, therefore, had no hesitation
in acceding to his invitation to pass the evening together, as the
plans of both had been disarranged by the unexpected illness of
Lord Grandborough. Besides, they had been at Eton t(^ther;
and a distant relationship also, by the mother's side, which ex-
isted between them, contributed not a little to the indulgence
with which he viewed the exquisite's ridiculous extravagances.

" Let us go to the club, Manley."

" I have no objection."

" What a bore, that you did not order your carriage sooner at
Sarum's I We shall be obliged to walk, or get into one of these
street cabs. I always will have my own cab waiting in future,
wherever I go. A street cab always shakes me to death ; it
confuses all one's ideas, and disarranges one's dress. Well, here
we are !"

" No one here !" said Lord Manley, as they entered the room*

" I do think an empty club-room is the dullest thing in
nature. Suppose we see who is at the Opera to-night."

" With all my heart"

" Horrid dull, isn't it ? and the heat excessive. How that
girl contrives to stand on one leg so long is utterly past my com^
prehension. Will you stay or go ? I diall go."

''What shall we. do now?" said the restless exquisite, when

OB, THfi RICH AND THE POOR. 133

they had got outside. " By George, I have an idea ! Will you
come with me ?*'

" Where do you want to go?"

** Never mind — will you come? and perhaps we shall have
some fun."

" Well,*' said Lord Manley, good-naturedly yielding, " I will
go with you, but don't be foolish."

" That's a good fellow. Now, none of your nonsense 1 I'm
just up to a lark. I'll try if I can't find out my little beauty."

Lord Manley, not without some hesitation, complied; and
the two proceeded in the direction of Oxford-street.

CHAPTER XIX.

tHE POOR HAVK COMPASSION POE ONE ANOTHEE. — A VICTIM TO THE NEGLECT
AND THE SELFISHNESS OP THE RICH. — THE PLOT THICKENS.

The kind-hearted Fanny had consulted with Mrs. Sidney to
contrive something agreeable to carry to the invalid, for she
did not like to go empty-handed. Having provided herself
with a small basket, she placed in it two nice-looking French
rolls ; to these she added an ounce of the best tea she could
buy, and a quarter of a pound of the whitest loaf sugar. She
would willingly have procured some cake, or other delicacy, but
the slenderness of her funds forbade it Mrs. Sidney, with
greater experience, put up materials for making gruel. Julia
Makepeace presently appeared.

She had " worried herself to death," she said, to think of
something to take to her sick acquaintance. She had the good
luck, however, to remember that she had a little love of a
handkerchief for the invalid to put round her neck when she
sat up ; " for," as she remarked very seriously to Fanny, " even
if one is ill, one likes to look becoming."

With such considerate thoughts the friends set out on their
way, the glow of kindliness in their hearts illuminating their
countenances with an additional charm of beauty, though, as
Julia remarked, she was glad it was lamp-light, as she had on
her second-best bonnet — Fanny was silent and pensive. — The

134 FANNTi THE LITTLB MILLmEB ;

distance was not great ; so that they quickly arrived at the abode
of the sick girl.

^^ I am afraid your young friend is very bad/' said the mis-
tress of the lodging-house to them, as they entered. She has eaten
nothing for the last twenty-four hours. She said she wanted
nothing ; but she's been badly off for a long time, poor thing.''

^^ Wc have brought her something nice," said Julia, showing
her basket " Has any doctor seen her ?"

** I don't think she will ever eat again," replied the womaa ;
*' she has been working herself to death — that's the fact;
the doctor has been here, but he gives no hopes of her, and
it's a sad thing to die in the lonesome way she is in. For my
part, I don't care about the rent, though there's a fortnight due
come Friday, and there's nothing to take. But she always paid
regular while she could, and it's not me that would disturb a
poor creature that's dying with such things."

" We will go up to her," said Fanny.

They found the poor girl sensible, but weak and wandering.
She was wretchedly weak and emaciated ; it seemed as if her
body had wasted away bit by bit, and that the flame of life was
expiring from want of sustentation.

Fanny immediately busied herself to light a fire ; there were
neither coals nor wood. She quickly ran down stairs and
fetched some. The landlady helped her willingly. Julia pro-
cured boiling water in a kettle from below, and the tea having
been duly set " to stand," they turned their attention to other
comforts for the sufferer. Fanny had known her scarcely by
sight, but Julia was better acquainted with hen

^^ Speak to her Julia," said Fanny ; ^^ she does not know me."

"It is Fanny Sidney, who is come with me to see you,"
said Julia, softly ; ^' it was only to-day that we heard of your
illness. Have you any pain ?"

" No pain ; I have been in pain, but I am quite easy now."

" I dare say you will soon be better," said Julia, cheerfully ;
" we have come to drink tea with you."

" There has been neither tea nor sugar here for a long while
past," the poor girl said, feebly ; and as she spoke she blushed,
for the feeling of the ignominy attached to poverty added an
additional pang to her dying hours.

" We have brought some with us," said Fanny. " A cup of
warm tea, perhaps, will do you good*" And as she said thisy she

0B| THE RICH AND THE POOR. 135

endieavoured to proportion the mixture with critical skilly so as
to render it as palatable as possible to the sufferer.

The silver tones of Fanny's voice, and the earnest kindness of
manner which springs from the heart, penetrated into the soul of
the dying girl; she looked at Fanny's lovely countenance —
melancholy, but sweet — and thought there was in it something
more than earthly.

*^ Tou are an angel from heaven," she said.

" Drink this, and try to have courage," said Fanny. " With a
little care, I am sure you may soon get strong again. What is
your illness ?"

The poor girl almost shrieked as she replied to this question.
Her hollow eyes glared almost fiercely. There was the energy
of frenzy in her manner.

**It is not illness," she said, hysterically; "it is want that
kills me ; I am starved — dying from want of food !"

The. young girls shuddered, and regarded each other with
looks of horror.

Fanny first recovered herself. ** Drink this," she repeated;
** it will refresh you. If it is only nourishment that you want,
surely that cannot be wanting in such an extremity as this in a
Christian country! Dear girl, you may yet live."

** Do not say that : I know they are meant for kind words,
but they are not kind to me ; the greatest blessing that you can
hold forth to me is, that I may soon die."

"But it is wicked to wish to die," replied Fanny, gently.
** The gift of life is one that may not be lightly thrown away ;
we must bear our sufferings with patience."

" I have borne them long enough," muttered the dying girl ;
'^ I can bear them no longer. The grave is the only resting-
place for the poor and wretched, such as I ! That is one com-
fort which the poor have in their misery ; they need not fear
death ; they have nothing to lose in losing life, but everything
to gain. Can you wish me to live ? What have I to live for?
Poor, friendless, hopeless ! To me life is one continual scene of
privation and misery."

She sunk down on the bed exhausted by the effort of speak-
ing, to which she had been temporarily excited. The two girls
sat by her bed in silence ; and presently the patient slept, or
seemed to sleep, calmly.

"Perhaps there maybe some one whom she might like to

136 FANNV^ THE LITTLE MILLINER:

see," Fanny whispered cautiously to Julia, who was trying to
stifle her sobs, that they might not disturb the patient.

^^ We will ask her when she wakes," said Julia.

" I wish mamma had come with us," said Fanny. ^^ I had no
idea the poor girl was so ill. If mamma does not find us at
home when she returns from your mother's, no doubt she will
come for us directly."

" It's very shocking," said Julia, with streaming eyes ; ** per-
haps she may die while we are here ! What shall we do ?"

" Stay with her till mamma comes ; but I wish she was here.
And I think she ought to see a clergyman. I think, Julia,
cither you or I ought to go for mamma, and bring her here."

" Let us wait a little while ; perhaps she will come."

All this the two girls spoke in whispers ; fearing to make the
slightest noise, lest they should disturb the sufferer from her
slumber.

At last they heard the clock strike ten — ^half-past — eleven ;
the patient still slept.

"Julia," whispered Fanny, "cither you or I must go for
mamma; I am getting frightened to stay here any longer by
ourselves."

" Do you stay here, Fanny," said Julia, noiselessly putting on
her bonnet and shawl. " It is not far ; I can run there in less
than five minutes."

" Make haste," said Fanny ; " I shall be very uneasy till you
come back."

Julia felt her way down stairs, and leaving tJbe house skipped
rapidly over the pavement to Mrs. Sidney's lodgmg.

It was at this time that the Honourable Mr. Snob, accompanied
by Lord Manley, reached the turning from Oxford-street in
which was Fanny's residence.

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 137

CHAPTER XX.

MB, SNOB CONTINUES HIS PUB8UIT.— A NIGHT-CHASB.— ACTIVITT OP

THB FOLICB.

" This is the street/' said the exquisite; "and this is the. house.
Now, Manley, are you of a mind for a lark ? Here are lots of
bells on the door-way ; I wonder which is the right one ? Here
goes, for a venture !*'

"Stop !". said the young Earl ; " I don't pretend to be a saint ;
but I don't like this work ; so,.noW'I.shall wish you good night.
Biit remember, these intrigues sometimes turn out more embar-
rassing than one calculates. Besides — but I .wont moralize ; so
good night" And saying this, he. re-entered Oxford-street,
where, to his surprise, he met Lord Sarum returning home. The
surprise was mutual.

".Come with me," said Lord Sarum; and they went on
together. /. !

Li the. temporary pause which, they made at their meeting, a
young girl shot rapidly past them.

"Pretty girl that, upon my word !" said Lord Manley.

"It is a sad sight to see," observed the Viscount, "the
numbers of young women living on scanty means, and exposed
to all sorts of temptations. There is something wrong in the
present constitution of society. It ought not to be ; but I con-
fess I don't see the remedy for it."

" Some remedy might . be found, if the effort were made," re-
plied his companion. ". The colonies, for instance, are in want
of women; the disproportion in our. colonies between the sexes
is very great, and the consequences are pernicious in the eX"
treme."

" But who is to set about it ?"

" That is the evil of the thing ; it is nobody's business, and
nobody sets about it. But I think much good might be done, if
we could only make the beginning. But it is a question that the
matrons of England ought to take up. I have thought if a board
or committee of women of rank and influence could be esta-

138 FANNT, THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

blished ; a board of protection, and encouragement, and of relief
when necessary, much practical good might be effected. "

"But women of a certain rank," said Lord Sarum, "have so
many things to attend to; and they are so ignorant generally of the
affairs of real life. Still I agree with you, that some good might
be done, if it could only be set about."

" I am surprised," continued Lord Manley, " that the middle
classes do not attempt some plan of amelioration. It is a question
that affects them more nearly than it does us, seeing that they
are exposed to reverses of fortune from which we are exempt,
and which often subjects their children to the most terrible pri-
vations and trials of poverty."

" True," said Lord Sarum.

" As I was saying, the question affects the middle classes more
nearly than it does us. You or I, for instance, by no possibility
could have a daughter exposed at this time of night to be running
about the streets. — What is the matter? — are you ill? — lean on
me. As I was saying, one in our rank of life could not by
possibility have a daughter — — "

*^ Let us walk on quicker," said Lord Sarum, hurriedly.

Lord Manley was surprised at Lord Sarum's oddness of man-
ner. He pondered on the events of the evening, but he could
find no satisfactory solution of the mystery. They continued
their walk in silence.

Meanwhile, the Honourable Maximilian Snob remained with
his hand on one of the bells of the house in which Mrs. Sidney
resided. He was about to give it a pull, when he observed a
light female form coming down the street at a quick pace. He
suspended his summons at the door, and retired on one side.

Julia approached, and was about to ring; but Maximilian,
making sure that she was the object of his search, darted forward,
and thinking that a young girl being alone at that hour of the
night, fully warranted the liberty, without ceremony he attempted
to clasp her round the waist. The terrified girl screamed, and
ran away in the direction of her own home, which she had the
good fortune to reach before her pursuer could overtake her.
She rang the bell violently ; and then, feeling reassured by being
at her own door, she turned round, and boldly confronted her
tormentor.

The Honourable Mr. Snob was considerably out of breath
firom the effects of an exertion to which nothing but an extraor-

OB, THB RICH AND THE POOB. 1S9

dinary excitement could have aroused him ; but while he was
endeavouring to give utterance to some compliments of a parti-
cularly insinuating nature — which gave time to the pretty Julia
to smoothe her collar and to bend her bonnet into shape, which
the rapidity of her flight had slightly discomposed — ^the door was
opened by a respectable-looking, middle-aged woman; Julia
vanished within; and the door, to the excessive disconcertment
of the Honourable Maximilian Alexander Theodosius Snob, was
instantly shut in his face.

^^ Oh, mamma, I have had such a fright ! A gentleman tried
to take hold of me as I was going to ring Mrs. Sidney's bell ;
and I was obliged to run ! And he was dressed quite like a gen-
tleman, too ! I was so frightened ! I wonder if he is at the door
now?"

** Don't look, my dear ; it would be to invite him."

" I will just peep through the curtain : — What impudence ! I
declare if he is not standing opposite, looking up at the window I"

" Never mind, my love ; when he is tired he will go away."

*^ But I must go back to Fanny ; I left her with Miss Clifford,
while I went to fetch Mrs. Sidney."

*^ Mrs. Sidney is gone home, and no doubt when she finds that
Miss Sidney is not returned, she will go for her at Miss Clif-
ford's. At any rate, my love, I will not let you go out again to-
night ; particularly, after the rudeness which has been offered to
you ; the man may be watching to insult you again."

There were two other persons watching the Honourable Mr.
Snob, whom Julia did not observe, but who were particularly
interested in his proceedings, though far from being aware of
the distinguished position which that enamoured individual held
in &8hionable society. The cause of their suspicion may best be
gathered from the following short colloquy, which took place be-
tween the parties > —

^*Jem — look;— d'ye see that cove trying the street-door, at
No. 20 ? That's one of the swell mob, I take it, that we are after.
He's dressed just like one of the gang; do you twig his gold
chain? There, he is trying the door again. We had better take
him ; he's sure to be one of 'em."

^^ Don't be in a hurry ; wait till he is fairly in, and then we
can grab him in the act, as the magistrate says."

With this wary intention, A 292, and B 468, remained, cat-
like, on the watch, ready to pounce on the immoral Maximilian,

L 2

140 FANKT, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

whom, from his appearance and flashy style of dress, coupled
with his stealthy and suspicious movements, they concluded
was one of the swell mob they had been specially instructed to
look out for in that locality, and who now was plainly scheming
an unlawful entry.

Leaving him, for the present, in this burglarious predicament,
we return to the solitary chamber, where Fanny, fearing almost
to breathe lest she should disturb the apparently tranquil slumber
of the sick girl, sat in anxious expectation of Mrs. Sidney's
arrival.

CHAPTER XXL

THX MIDNIGHT VIGIL.--THB SLSBF O? P£ATH.-»FAN1IT*8 TERBORS.

Twelve o'clock struck, and no one arrived to assist poor Fanny
in her sorro\rful task of watching by the bedside of the sick girl
But she waited patiently, though lost in conjecture as to the
reason why Mrs. Sidney had not come to relieve her. The clock
struck one ; Fanny made an involuntary start at the sound, and
feared that she had awakened the sleeper; but the sick girl lay
still, and gave no sign of having been disturbed.

All was silent in the house, and in the street It was a street
seldom disturbed by the sound of wheels even in the day-time ;
and now all was hushed and still. Fanny turned to the fire ; but
its few embers were nearly extinct. She snuffed the thin bit of
candle very cautiously, so as not to make a noise, and calculated
that it would last perhaps half an hour longer. She waited — and
watched — and wondered ! The sick girl did not move. Spark
by spark the fire went out ; the light of the candle grew dimmer
and dimmer, as it burnt down in the socket. She looked
carefully about for another, and examined the little cupboard in
the comer ; but it was bare of everything save a few odd pieces of
earthenware. While she was searching with some anxiety — ^for
she had a vague fear of being without a light in the room — the
clock struck two : at the same time the expiring flame of the
candle flickered for an instant, and then became suddenly extin-
guished. The tones of the clock had a solemn sound, and the

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 141

sense of darkness oppressed her painfully. She remained for some
minutes where she stood^ feeling, she did not know why, a little
frightened and having an hysterical inclination to cry out ; but
she conquered that weakness, the fear of awakening the sleeper
lending strength to her resolution ; and presently, with an effort —
for the sound of the rustling of her own dress struck on her ear
strangely — she felt her way back to her chair, and sat down
again by the bed.

She remained for some time without moving ; she began to
feel alarmed at the stillness of the sleeper. The clock struck
three. She was glad to hear even the sound of the clock ; it took
off from her sense of loneliness ; but she wondered what could
keep Mrs. Sidney away. She thought she would gently leave the
room and run home ; but she did not like the idea of being in
the street at such a strange hour in the morning; — and more —
she thought it would not be right to leave the sick girl alone ;
but she longed intensely for some one to come. The silence —
the loneliness — the strange house — the occasion — the continual
stillness of the slumbering girl — affected her with unusual fears.
Her sense of loneliness became insupportable. — She would have
given worlds to hear the sound of a human voice ; — but all was
still and silent as the grave. — The sick girl did not stir. — She
determined, in her desperation, to speak to her : the continued
state of suspense was too painful to bear ! — Her voice shook as
she with difficulty said in a faint whisper:—

« Miss Clifford I"

The sound did not seem to wake her.

Fanny spoke in a louder whisper : —

« My dear Miss Clifford !"

The sick girl gave no sign of having heard her voice.

" My dear Miss Clifford 1" repeated Fanny, in excessive tremor,
and speaking above a whisper, though the sound of her own voice
in that lonely chamber increased her agitation. ** My dear Miss
Clifford, how do you feel ? Are you awake ?"

There was no reply: — Fanny's trepidation increased; the
thought flashed on her, that the poor girl was dead ! — that she
had been watching by a corpse. Silently she sunk on her knees,
and, as if drawn by some invincible attraction, she extended her
hand to the girl's face ; — ^it w;as icy cold. She shuddered convul-
sively, and nearly fainted I She had scarcely power to remove
her hand ; drawing it slowly and silently down the bed, she felt

142 FAinnr> ths little biiluneb:

for the hand of the poor girl^ which she remembered she had ob-
served, before her light had burnt out, extended on the outside.
Tracing her way down the arm, she came to the girl's hand ;
the shrivelled fingers of that thin hand felt like cold sticks!
Fanny raised up the arm ; — it did not bend ; she let it drop ; — ^it
fell on the bed stiffly ; there was the inertness of death in that
stifled sound. — Fanny felt a swimming in the head, and the veins
of her forehead seemed to her to be swelling out to bursting.
And there she knelt in silence. — Wearied with watching; and worn
out with anxiety and expectation, she grew more and more
nervous: — a cold shivering seized her; she shed involuntary
tears* By degrees, a creeping fear, inexplicable — ^undefined —
stole over her. — She was fiUed with a superstitious dread of she
knew not what! In the darkness, she &ncied strange forms
flitted about the room ; her terrors grew stronger ; her very hair
seemed to bristle up on her head : she would have cried out — ^but
her voice stuck in her throat; and she could only listen, as if to
catch the slightest sound to break the horrible stillness of the
chamber of death. — ^But she could hear nothing but the violent
beating of her own heart — She knelt — and she strained her ears
to listen — but all continued still ; and she grew colder and colder,
till her blood seemed to coagulate and freeze in her veins. — She
tried to pray; — ^but she had not the power to articulate ; terror
stifled her voice. In this state of horrible suspense, every minute —
every second — seemed an age of intolerable pain 1 At last, nature
gave way ; her senses, from excess of emotion, lost their acute-
ness ; a dim sensation of coming insensibility possessed her ;
and, her head sinking on the bed in a state of unconsciousness,
the living reposed with the dead.

In the meantime, an accident had be&llen her adopted mother,
which had important consequences on her future fate.

OB, THB BICB AMD TBE FOOB. 143

CHAPTER XXII.

LIFE A CHAPTER OF ACCIDEICT8. — LOBD MAHLET MAKES A HEW ACaOAINT-
ANCE. — ^HB FINDS HIMSELF IN LOTE WITH A FICTUBS. — ^HIS PBEAM. — A
TIBIT OF CHAETTT.

Lord Manley and Lord Sarum had not proceeded far 'in their
walk towards home, after the rapid vision of the pretty Julia
whose appearance had given rise to remarks the cause of so
much acute pain, when their attention was attracted by a group
of three or four persons, among whom was a policeman, sur-
rounding the body of a female lying on the pavement.

^^ She's drunk I" said a bystander.

" Dead drunk !" echoed a woman.

^^ As drunk as an owl in fits!" chimed in another, as the
countenance of the prostrate female was observed, by the aid of
the policeman's lantern, to work about convulsively: — this remark
gave rise to some merriment.

« It's not a bad shawl that she has got on," said the woman,
fingering it, and muttering an impromptu wish that the incon-
venient policeman was in a certain place usually supposed to be
at an indeterminate distance, and of a warmth greater than
agreeable. *^ You had better go for a doctor."

The officer made no reply to this appeal, but remained in an
attitude of reflection, as if absorbed in the contemplation of the
arduous nature of his duties. He held very decided opinions on
the culpability of people getting so drunk as not to be able to
walk, and who consequently required to be carried to the station-
house — an extra amount of work wliich, as it led to no extra pay,
the worthy functionary was particularly opposed to.

** Let us try," he said, " to set her on her legs; perhaps when
she feels her legs she may be able to walk." But the form of
the female remained, Uke an inanimate mass, in their arms.

^^ It's no go," said the man. They laid the female down
again, supporting her back against the walL

" You had better start for a doctor at once," repeated the
woman who had made the remark about the shawL ^^ If the
woman dies, you'll be shown up for it before the magistrate."

if

144 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER;

"By Geoi^el" said the male bystander, who had spoken
before, " it looks as if the old gal ]^ad cut her stick already."
It was at this moment that Lord Manley and Lord Sarum ap-
peared.

What's the matter?" asked Lord Manley.
Only a woman that's drunk."

She's dressed respectable too," observed the female by-
stander ; " but the old lady has had a drop too much for once —
that's certain."

*^ It is my opinion," said the officer, with much emphasis, and
in a tone which implied his conscious superiority of his own
penetration — " it is my opinion that the woman is in a fit ; for
if she was drunk, it stands to reason that her breath would smell
of the drink; and there's no smell in it," he .added, after a
vigorous sniff at the woman's mouth, " in this here woman ; so
that it's my opinion she is in a fit, and that makes her twitch
her mouth about that queer way."

While the officer delivered his professional opinion. Lord
Manley, approaching nearer the woman, saw at once that she
was suffering from some sort of fit. Without a moment's delay,
he had her conveyed to the nearest hospital, which fortunately
was at no great distance. After the lapse of an hour, the violence
of the fit abated, but the female remained speechless, and, to all
appearance, insensible. As she was in good hands, however,
and as the presence of strangers was not wanted. Lord Manley
and Lord Sarum returned home. As they passed the door of
the former's house, the Earl invited Lord Sarum to come in and
see the picture.

" Come in and look at it ; upon my word, you will say you
never saw anything more beautiful in your life."

'* I have seen it," said Lord Sarum, hurriedly and confusedly.

"Indeed! When?"

" I just looked in to see if you were at home ; and I saw the
picture in the dining-room. But I don't feel at all well— good
night."

"Good night!" said Lord Manley. "What can be the
meaning," he thought to himself, " of Scrum's odd manner?"

" Lord Sarum called," reported the seirvant in waiting, " while
your lordship was out He Waited for your lordship about an
hour in the dining-room."

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 145

** Very odd," thought Lord Manley; " there is something in
all this that I don't understand. Who has been touching this
picture ?" he said, aloud, to the servant There were marks on it
of damp, and it had the appearance of having been recently
smeared with water.

" No one has been in the room except Lord Sarum," repUed
the servant.

" Have the kindness to take the picture carefully to my bed-
room, and place it on the mantel-piece." The young nobleman
retired to bed ; his last look was on the portrait of the beautiful
unknown ; it had fascinated him, he felt, in a manner that was
extraordinary. His sleep was disturbed. He dreamed that, as
he stood before the picture, admiring its exquisite beauty, the
cheeks flushed ! the mouth breathed ! and the eyes looked at
him lustrously but mournfully ! The miracle of a picture start-
ing into life seemed to him in his dream not at all extraordinary,
though the delight of such a vision shook his frame with over-
powering emotions, and he was about to address his idol with
the enthusiasm of an irresistible passion, when the effort to speak
awoke him !

It was early morning ; the eyes of the portrait seemed still to
be fixed on him with the same supernatural expression, and the
colours of the canvas retained, to his half-recovered senses, the
reality of life, so highly-wrought had been his feelings, and
so skilfully had the artist depicted the traits of surpassing
beauty. He tried to sleep again ; — but the eyes of the portrait
remained fixed on his with an expression so real, that, as he
raised himself on his elbow and gazed on it, it seemed to his
excited imagination as if it was about to speak to him ! He could
not sleep again ; he got up ; dressed himself; and then his thoughts
reverted to the case of the poor woman of the night before,
whom he had caused to be conveyed to the hospital. — " Poor
creature ! perhaps she was in distress ; perhaps her family were
expecting her home ?" He felt excited and feverish ; — ^what was
better to soothe and calm his mind, than to endeavour to do
good to others ? He resolved, although it was so early, to go and
see the poor woman. As he left his bedroom with this determi-
nation, he cast his eyes on the picture ; the eyes of the portrait
followed him, and seemed to regard him with a smiling ex-
pression of approval

146 FANKT, THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

" This picture," he repeated to himself, " has taken a singular
possession of me. K I was a believer in omens, I should suppose
that there was some mysterious sympathy between us 1"

With this feeling, giving rise to many &nciful imaginings, he
proceeded to the hospital where the patient was lying. As he
was recognised as the gentleman who had brought her to the
house the night before, he was admitted to see her without diffi-
culty. He was glad to find that the old lady had recovered
the use of her speech, though she was not able to converse with-
out much difficulty ; and she was exceedingly weak. The nurse
communicated privately to her visitor, whom she judged, from
his marked attention, to be some relation of the patient, that it
was the opinion of the surgeon, that the poor lady could not
long sinrvive the attack, which the nurse designated, in an attempt
At technical description, as a something which was utterly beyond
her auditor's comprehension. However, it was clear, that the
poor woman was in a very dangerous state. Under these cir-
cumstances, the kind-hearted nobleman immediately turned his
attention to inquiries after her relatives. He explained to her
that he, in company with a friend, had found her extended on
the pavement in a fit ; and that he had caused her to be taken
to the hospital. He ofiered his services in any way that could
be useful, and invited her to communicate fireely with him re-
specting her circumstances. He added also, that, although there
was no immediate danger, the medical man's opinion was, that
she was threatened with illness perhaps of a serious nature.

Thus urged, and entirely won by the gentlemanly and firsmk
manner of the stranger, the patient made an effort, though it was
with considerable difficulty that Lord Manley could collect the
meaning of her words, and stated that her name was Sidney ;
that she had fallen down suddenly in the street in a fit, while on
her way to her daughter, who had gone out to see a sick firiend ;
that she feared her daughter would be much alarmed at her not
coming ; but here the old lady got confiised, and her speech, at
best difficult to be understood, rambled. All that Lord Manley
could make out was something about a fiiend of the name of
Makepeace, whose address he contrived to learn fi'om her. The
niurse now interposed ; and on her representation that any fiirther
attempt at conversation would be prejudicial, Lord Manley with-
drew^ leaving a sovereign in her hands, with strict injunctions to

Si

0B> THB BICH Ain> THE POOR. 147

take care of the sick person. He then^ early as it was, bent his
steps to the residence of the poor woman's friend.

His inquiry at the door, after he had succeeded in ringing up
the maid of all-work, was received with some ill-humour; but
when he explained that he came on an important matter from a
iady of the name of Sidney, the servant, mollified, besides, by the
good looks of the applicant, undertook to ascend the stairs, and
deliver his message ; not without taking the very proper pre-
caution, however, of shutting the door, and of leaving the visitor,
for greater security, on the outside.

" A gentleman wants— I suppose it's your mamma, miss,'' cried
out the maid, speaking through the door.

Say we are not up," said Mrs. Makepeace.
What sort of a gentleman ?" asked Julia.
A yoimgish-looking gentleman, very handsome," replied
the maid, *^ and dressed quite genteel."

Julia, instinctively, immediately began to take out her curl
papers.

" He says he wants to see you," continued the maid, " because
he's come from Mrs. Sidney."

" Who can it be ?" said Julia, dressing herself with all haste ;
"make haste, mamma, and get ready."

" It is your tormentor of last night, I've a notion," observed
her mother.

" But he says he comes from Mrs. Sidney," said Julia ; " we
must see him, mamma. How do I look this morning ?" Without
waiting for a reply to this characteristic inquiry, the young lady
set about the duties of the toilet with an earnestness and a
rapidity, which at any other time would have elicited her parent's
most hearty commendations.

" Shall I go down ?" asked Julia.

" No, my dear, I will go down myself; it is not proper for
young girls to put themselves in the way of strange gentlemen."

"Gracious goodness I" exclaimed Mrs. Makepeace, to her
daughter, as she made her way up stairs again, quite out of breath ;
^^ poor Mrs. Sidney fell into a fit last night, and she was taken to
the hospital, the gentleman says. Quick, JuKa, shut the bed-room
door ; I declare the gentleman has followed me upstairs."

As she spoke. Lord Manley appeared^ and bowing with a
courteous air, looked as if he waited to be invited inside the

148 FANNT, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

sitting-room. Julia had only time to give her favourite curl one
twist through her fingers when he entered*

" As well as I could make out," said Lord Manley, in con-
tinuation of the communication he had made at the street door,
" the poor lady, Mrs. Sidney, wished to see you ; and she talked
also of her daughter expecting her somewhere ; but I could not
make out her meaning in that respect, her words were so very
indistinct"

" It is Fanny she means," said Julia. ** Good heavens I has
that poor girl been alone with Miss Clifford all night? Mamma,
do come ; let us go directly. We will first go to Mrs. Sidney's
house, and see if Fanny is there."

Mrs. Makepeace, who was really good-natured, and prompt in
her proceedings when any assistance was required at her hands,
immediately retired with her daughter into the bed-room ; and
presently after, the mother and daughter re-appeared dressed for
walking.

" Can I be of any assistance if I accompany you ?" asked Lord
Manley.

Julia looked at her mother ; Mrs. Makepeace hesitated a mo-
ment, and looked at Julia ; then she looked at the gentleman,
doubtfully.

" This is not the gentleman who ran afler me last night," said
Julia, to her mother, in a whisper.

" May I know your name ?" asked Mrs. Makepeace.

" Manley, madam."

There was something in the air of the gentleman that prepos-
sessed Mrs. Makepeace in his favour; with the instinct of a
gentlewoman, she perceived that her visitor was not an ordinary
person.

" Mr. Manley," she replied, " we are much obliged to you ;
very much obliged, for taking this trouble on behalf of our firiend
Mrs. Sidney ; if it is not trespassing too much on your kindness^
I should be glad to avail myself of your assistance at the hospital
where our friend is lying."

Lord Manley felt that he was speaking to a lady accustomed
to good society, though now, it seemed, in humble circumstances.
He renewed the offer of his services. Giving his arm to Mrs.
Makepeace, they left the house, Julia modestly taking her mother's .
arm on the other side ; who observed, for the first time, that her
daughter had on her best bonnet, and her last new collar — ^a

OB| THE BICB AND THE POOB. 149

piece of extravagance^ especially at that early hour in the morning,
which her economical parent considered quite uncalled for.

On calling at Mrs. Sidney's place of residence, on their way,
they found that neither Mrs. Sidney, nor Fanny, had been home
on the preceding night.

" We shall pass the door of the house where Miss Clifford
lives," said Julia, to her mother ; " and you can leave me there
as you go by ; I am quite alarmed about Fanny, for the poor
dear girl must be in a dreadful state not to have heard from any
of us all night."

" You are right," replied her mother; "lam quite uneasy about
Fanny myself; but we must hope that Miss Clifford is better."

As she said this, they reached the door.

" Wait a moment," said Julia, " I will just run up stairs, to see
if she is there."

Her mother and Lord Manley remained in the passage, waiting
for her return, when suddenly a scream was heard from above ;
a scream — shrill — penetrating — and bearing in its sound the
tidings of some terrible disaster. The mother ran up the stairs
with nervous haste, and Lord Manley, supposing some accident
had happened, followed her quickly ; when a scene presented
itself to her sight, which at once accounted for Julia's alarming
smmons.

CHAPTER XXHL

A DISCOVEBT. — LOVB AT TIBST SIQHT. — STBUGGLE BETWEEN HONOUR
AND PASSION. — ^LOBB MANLEY BESOLVES TO GO ABBOAJ).

On the humble bed of that lonely chamber lay the corpse of the
poor girl, who at last had found, in her early grave, a refuge and
a resting-place from the sorrows and privations of the poor.
There could be no mistake about that aspect ! The half-opened
mouth ; the half-closed eyes ; the rigid features ; the marble
fixedness of the sunken cheeks ; the stiffened pointedness of the
bony fingers of that attenuated hand, which seemed to have been
struck out by the chisel of the sculptor from the hard stone ; —
all revealed, with frightful distinctness, the reality of death I

150 FANNT, THE LITTLE IflLLtMrER:

But by the side of the dead, there was a livmg form ; yet one
so pale and lifeless-looking, that it seemed the inanimate com-
panion of its sister clay. Worn out by her long and fearful
vigil, Fanny had slept, and in her sleep had crept unconsciously
into the bed which contained the corpse, on which one of her
arms was resting. Mrs. Makepeace, making a motion with her
hand to Lord Manley, to signify that he could not enter, closed
the door. She had no difficulty in comprehending at a glance
the state of the case ; but she was surprised that Julia's exclama-
tion had not awakened Fanny. She almost feared the worst ;
but on approaching nearer she foimd that she breathed. She put
her finger to her Ups, to caution silence to her daughter, and for
a few seconds she reflected how to act She feared that if she
were to take means suddenly or violently to arouse Fanny, the
shock of finding herself the companion of a corpse, under circum-
stances so dreadful, might perhaps be fatal to her reason. But it
was necessary to do something promptly. The best thing she*
thought was immediately to convey Fanny to her own home, that
she might be soothed by the sight of well-known objects. In a
whisper, she desired Julia to call up the landlady of the house :
Julia, sobbing, obeyed. At the same time she requested Lord
Manley to procure a coach — this was quickly done. With the
assistance of the landlady, whose miu'miu'ed exclamations of
surprise and horror she had great difficulty in subduing, Fanny
was gently lifted firom the bed, wrapped in her shawl, and Lord
Manley, understanding more firom her signs than her words what
he was required to do, received the unconscious Fanny in his
arms^ and carried her down stairs.

The passage and the stairs were dark, so that it was not until
he had emerged with his burden into the open street that he
perceived to his amazement that the young girl whom he bore in
his arms presented the likeness of his mysterious portrait! Excited
by the events of the morning, he uttered a cry of surprise, when
Fanny, stimulated by the reviving fi*eshness of the open air,
and roused by the strange voice, opened her eyes — ^the very
eyes of his picture ! The young nobleman trembled so violently,
that it was with difficulty that he placed his charge by the side of
Mrs. Makepeace in the carriage; and then, prompted by an
irresistible impulse, he took his place opposite, forgetting, for the
moment, his accustomed politeness, and leaving Julia to find her
way in afi;er them without assistance.
The landlady had followed them to the coach door, her mind

' -■".• i

* >«

■ 1

iv

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOB. 151

agitated with mingled feelings of rough commiseration for the
deceased^ and anxiety for the payment of her expenses.

" I suppose," she said, opposing for a moment the drawing-up
of the coach-window with one hand, and with the other wiping
away some real tears from her anxious face — " I suppose, as you
are friends of the young lady that's dead — poor thing ! but we
must all die — there's nothing certain in this life but death and
taxes "

"Do not stop us now," said Lord Manley; ** another time we
will attend ''

*^Ah! that's always the way with a lodger, begging your
pardon, sir. When they go away, it's always " another time ;" but
another time never comes ! And I that have got to pay rent and
taxes ; and the poor young lady that's gone, she will owe for
a fortnight's rent next Friday; and then the body must be attended
to, as is proper ; and no nurse would come under half-a-crown, or
say two shillings at the least "

" Do whatever is necessary and proper," interposed the young
nobleman, taking out his purse, at the sight of which the land-
lady's countenance assumed an expression of the most profoimd
respect ; " I will pay for the frmeral, and all expenses ; in the
meantime here are five pounds," (the landlady curtseyed low, and
Mrs. Makepeace could not restrain a look of sinprise ;) " and now,
deske the coachman to drive on."

While this little scene took place, Fanny began to recover from
her lethargy, and she regarded Mrs. Makepeace, and Jullia, and
Lord Manley, alternately, with looks of inquiring wonder.
Fixing her eyes with an earnest gaze on the latter, like one
awakening from a dream, and striving to recover the command of
her senses, to comprehend the meaning of what was passing
around her, she endeavoured in vain to make out the meaning of
what she saw. By degrees she awoke to the consciousness of the
reality; and then, the whole scene of the anxious night rushing
to her recollection, she burst into a passionate flood of tears.

Presently the coach stopped at the door of her dwelling. Lord
Manley quickly alighted, and having assisted Mrs. Makepeace
and her daughter from the vehicle, he suggested the expediency
of his carrying Fanny up stairs; but, as Fanny shrunk from
this, he was excessively assiduous in supporting her in the most
deUcate manner round the waist ; but Fanny gave an imploring
look to Mrs. Makepeace, which that lady with feminine readi-
ness understood, and she contrived, therefore, with the assistance

152 FANNYj TH£ UTTLE MILLINER ;

of her daughter^ to convey her up stairs to her own sitting-
room, where they placed her in the great arm-chair. Julia
whispered to her by the way, that "her bonnet was quite safe,**
Her first inquiry was for her " mamma."

Mrs. Makepeace beckoned Lord Manley on one side,

" Sir," she said, ^^ I do not know who you are, and I am
perhaps asking too much from a stranger on such short acquaint-
ance ; but this dear girl is the daughter of the lady whom you
assisted last night to the hospital ; if you could permit me to
trespass on your kindness so far as to beg you to endeavour to
have Mrs. Sidney conveyed hither, it would be an obligation^
which, although I at present do not well know how to repay,
would be deeply and gratefully considered."

Mrs. Makepeace was poorly, not to say meanly, dressed ; but
there was a mildness and ladylike manner in her language and
demeanour, which struck the young nobleman the more forcibly
as it was in strong contrast with her humble appearance. He bore
himself towards her, therefore, with a deference and respect
usually paid only to those of an ostensibly higher rank, and he
could not fell to observe that she received his courtesies as forms
to which she was not unaccustomed. He replied, briefly, ^* That
if it was possible to remove Mrs. Sidney, she should be restored
to her daughter immediately."

Fortunately he found the old lady much recovered, and very
anxious to be removed at once to her own home. In a short
time, therefore, he had the pleasure to see the mother and daughter
re-united, though both in the condition of invalids. Leaving
them thus restored to each other, he took his leave, to ruminate at
leisure on the extraordinary discovery, as he supposed, of the
original of his picture, which, on his return home, he immediately
locked up, an undefinable feeling of delicacy prompting him to
conceal his treasure from the gaze of all eyes but his own. Then
he sat down to collect his thoughts, and to ponder over the strange
circumstances of the night and morning.

Lord Manley was threc-and-twenty years of age ; and although
he was by no means insensible to the charms of female society,
he had never been in that confirmed state of psychologic transcen-
dentalism which is vulgarly described as being " in love." He
had escaped that misfortune, not from any coldness of disposition,
but from a certain fastidiousness of sentiment which made him
dissatisfied with any degree of perfection below that which was

ORj THE RICH AND THE POOR. 153

pictured in his romantic imagination. He had lost both his
parents when a child, so that the produce of the large femily
property had accumulated during his long minority to an amount
which placed him, when he came of age, in a position of indepen-
dence, in respect to that usefiil adjunct to landed property,
ready-money, not usually enjoyed by the heirs of noble inherit-
ances. But although he was far from being parsimonious, either
in his establishments or in his gifts, he was, happily, from habit
and from the effects of good moral training, by no means inclined
to ikll into the fashion of profuse and unmeaning expenditure, too
often the concomitant of large fortunes. Money was absolutely
a matter of no moment to him ; he had more than enough; the
greatest difficulty which he felt was to dispense it usefiiUy.
Regarding himself as the trustee of the fortune which he possessed
rather for the benefit of society than for his own amusements or
dissipations, he always rejoiced in the opportunity of being able
to bestow it where it could be beneficially employed. It was
with particular pleasure, therefore, that he contemplated the
present occasion of distributing some fractional portions of his
wealth in a way most gratifying and satis&ctory. Here was
evidently a family in distress, or bordering on distress, and suffer-
ing under illness ; a mother and daughter, apparently, who had
seen better days ; the mother struck with an affliction which,
probably, and at no distant date, would be fatal to her ; and then
the daughter might be friendless, wanting assistance — and so
exceedingly beautiful I — ^To an observer of the young noble-
man's countenance, as the thoughts to which this last idea gave
rise, it would seem that he was by turns excited, perplexed, and
dissatisfied with his own reflections.

" No," he said at last, speaking aloud, *^ I would never do that ;
that would be brutal. So innocent and so lovely ! She might
marry well in her own sphere of life. — I will keep my eye on
her ; and provide her with a marriage portion ; and then the
feeling will be far more satisfactory than ^"

But the feeling, somehow, was not satisfactory; there was
something in the idea of the young girl — the Uving resemblance of
his picture, with which he had laughingly said he was in love — of
her marrying any other than himself, that was exquisitely painful.
His plan of watching over her, of observing her, of guarding
her, it might be, from harm, was pleasurable enough ; but after
all that there must come a time when the consideration would

M

154 FANNT, THE LTTTLB BULUNER:

arise of ^^ what was to be done with her ?" For himself to form an
alliance so unequal, never entered his imagination ! To bring her
to shame, his better feelings revolted at ; and there was an
additional sentiment which he could not exactly define, which
forbade the possibility of his considering her in a degraded light. —
He looked at the portrait, and the power of its beaming and'
searching eyes gave him a thrill so softly pleasing, that he hastily
closed the door which contained the picture. Though alone,
and secured firpm the observation of all human eyes, he blushed,
as the consciousness assailed him that he was struck with an
overpowering passion for this humble girL

^* This is folly," he repeated to himseli^ as he paced up and
down the room in troubled thought ; *^ this would be love at
first sight indeed I But it would never da — ^No ; the one is im-
possible ; and the other alternative is villainous. — I will go abroad.
Sarum is going to Italy; I will go with him if he has no objection.
How very strange I A man to fall in love with a picture I But
then, here is the original ! Only one way to save myself: 111 go
abroad. But first I wUl see that the poor old lady is well cared
for; — that is ^ duty; it is a good action to be done — thrown
accidentally in my way — ^and it would be wrong to neglect it;
so I will see the old lady again, just to put things right ; — and then
I will be ofi^."

With this praiseworthy resolve, he rang the bell, which was
aiuswered by a servant with a dirty-looking note, bearing on
its face the words, always so disagreeable and sometimes so em-
barrassing, " waiting for an answer." The contents of this
epistle forced him to turn his thoughts abruptly in another
direction.

CHAPTER XXIV.

MB. SNOB IN TBOUBLE. — THE POOB IN INPANCT AND IN OLD AGB.

A FEW W0BD8 ON DESTITUTION AND CBIME.

The contents of the note were as follows : —

" Dear Manley — Pray come to me directly; pray do. The
wretches have kept me in the station-house all night ; and they
will persist that I wanted to break into the house of that con-

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 155

founded girl — the devil take her! Ask for me in the name of
Smith — John Smith — and, for Heaven's sake, don't let anybody
know what has happened : I should never hear the last of it !
I know I can trust you*

" P.S. — K you can put your hand on a bottle of eau-de-
Cologne, put it in your pocket for me. What I have suffered I "

This summons was rather annoying; but Lord Manley was
too good-natured to allow any feeling of fastidiousness to stand
in the way of the duties of acquaintance and school-fellowship.
So, getting into a street cab, he desired the man to drive to the
police-office.

How he should be able to extricate the Honourable Mr. Snob
from his embarrassment, without making known his family dig-
nities, and explaining the real intention of the amorous exquisite
in making his midnight attempts on a street door, rather puzzled
him ; but, leaving that matter to chance for the present, he asked
to see one of the prisoners who were to be " brought up" that
morning. The functionary to whom he addressed his inquiry
immediately led the way to a part of the premises where the un-
fortunates were promiscuously huddled together waiting for the
arrival of the magistrate. There was something in the air of
Lord Manley which at once impressed the officer with the idea —
sharpened by experience, as the eyes and wits of the police
usually are, in detecting personal pretensions — that the inquirer
was a *^ nob" of some sort. Eyeing Lord Manley, therefore,
with professional keenness, but not disrespectfully, and then
scrutinizing the motley group, as if to discover wherein the
affinity lay between the gentleman before him and the ragged
wretches in durance, he asked the usual question ; —

" Friend of one of the prisoners?"

Lord Manley cast his eyes over the group, and felt by no
means inclined to claim a personal acquaintance with any indi-
vidual of the lot He contented himself, therefore, with re-
plying:—

" I want to see a gentleman of the name of Smith."

^^ A gentleman!" returned the officer, searching among the
crowd for some one likely to answer the designation ; " I don't
think he can be among this batch. — Smith," he said aloud ; —
" Smith wanted." There were between thirty and forty people
'^ in trouble ;" at this name about a dozen started forward.

m2

156 TAMKY, THE UTTLB lOLUHKB:

^ John Smith," repeated the c^cer; half of the number drew
back.

Lord Manley shook his head.

** What 18 your fiiend charged ^th ?" asked the <^Bcer.

This was a yery nnpleasant qoesticHL To mqnire at a police-
office for ^a friend" charged with ** hoa8e4xreaking,'' is the last
thing in the woAd to reflect credit on the inquirer. But as he
had gone so far, and as the case was really pressingy Lend Manley
would not shrink from endeavouring to save his school-feUow
from public exposure ; so^ making a little effort, but growing ex-
cessively red as he reluctantly stated the predicament in which
his friend was placed, he gave the officer to understand that the
*^ party was charged, he believed, with attempting to get into
a house."

** Solicitor?" asked the officer.

'^ No : I am not a solicitor ; I am only a friend of the party."

The officer looked at Lord Manley with some surprise, not
unmixed with a certain air of suspicion. He retired to make
inquiry, and presently returning, declared that " it was all
right; there was a John Smith on the ' sheet' Can't you make
him out among 'em ?" Saying this, the officer caused the group
to separate themselves, so far as it was possible to do so in the
small space in which they were confined, and brought to light a
wretched-looking object, seated on the floor in a comer, in an
attitude of the most miserable dejection, and attempting, it
seemed, in its humility, to retire, as much as possible, from
popular observation.

*^ That is my friend," said Lord Manley^

"Which?"

" That gentleman sitting in the comer."

" That chap ? Well, you had better lose no time in speaking
to him, for depend upon it, that ^ gentleman' will soon set off on
his travels. He was taken in the very act of breaking into a
house hard by Oxford Street : — he's booked !"

Certainly, if outward signs and tokens were to be taken as in-
dications of professional pursuits, the personal appearance of the
Honourable Mr. Snob was decidedly against him. His coat was
torn from top to bottom, forming two festoons, with all the incon-
venience, without the dignity, of the ancient toga ; his shirt was
covered with blood, the result of his fight with the policemen,
who declared to their brethren, " that though he was, no doubt, a

OR^ THE RICU AND TU£ POOU. 157

bad 'un^ he was a game 'un ;" his white satin waistcoat presented
the appearance of some excessively dirty bit of rag that had been
discarded from the bag of an old-clothes man ; his black satin
stock had been torn from his neck and hung in shreds ; and that
fashionable appendage which once bore a semblance to a hat,
was torn and battered into a form indescribable ; add to this
that he was imshaved, and uncombed, and that his face and hands
were begrimed with mud. It was in such guise that Lord
Manley had the infinite mortification to recognise, though not
without considerable difficulty, the once-perfiimed person of The
Honourable Maximilian Alexander Theodosius Snob.

Snob's visage presented a most rueful appearance, as he crawled
forward to give some necessary explanations to his friend through
the bars. His greatest fear was lest his name should be known,
and his mishap reported throughout the fashionable circles in
which he was wont to hold distinguished place.

'* I should never hear the last of it," he said, dolorously. ** And
look at me I Did you ever see anything so horrid ? Only think
that I have had to endure the smell of these creatures all night 1"
" K you don't declare yourself," replied Lord Manley, through
the bars, **I fear you will be committed for attempting a
iDurglary."

'' Oh ! the devil take that girl !"

" Look sharp," called out an officer, " the magistrate's come."
" I will try to speak privately to the magistrate," said Lord
3fanley.

" Do anything," implored the wretched Snob ; " but don't let
my name be known ; it would be the death of me — it would
indeed !"

"Now, sir," said the policeman to Lord Manley, "if you
want to get in you must look sharp."

Lord Manley took the policeman on one side, and requested
him to hand his card privately to the magistrate.

At the sight of the magic word " Earl," the man immediately
doffed his hat, and departing on his errand, returned in less than
a minute, with the invitation to take a seat near the magistrate on
the bench ; but before he covdd make any commimication on the
subject of the unfortunate Snob, the first case was called on, and
Lord Manley, in deference to the forms of justice, deferred
speaking till a fit opportunity.
The party accused on the present occasion^ was an urchin of

158 FAKNY^ THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

about ten years of age, who looked more like a lump of dirt
patted up into the semblance of a child, than anything human*
What is the charge ?" asked the magistrate.
Stealing, your worship," replied an officer, coming forward ;

I watched him a goodish bit, for I thought he was hatching
mischief; and so it was, for he snatched a roll from the inside of
the shop window, and cut off. This is it," producing a penny
roll carefully wrapped up in his handkerchie£

<« What have you to say to this, boy ?" said the magistrate to
the little culprit, who was just tall enough for his dirty face to
peer above the rail

The boy began to blubber.

" What have you to say ?" Repeated the magistrate ; " you hear
what is said — that you stole the bread. It seems very clear
against you.''

It was a clear case. The little rogue felt, with the instinct of
his calling, that his best game was an appeal to mercy.

"I can't say but what I prigged the roU," he broke out, blub-
bering afresh ; « but I was so hungry."

*^ Hungry I" said the magistrate, " that will not do ; if every
hungry person was to take what he wanted, there wouldn't be a
bit of bread left in a baker's shop. How old are you?"

'' I don't know."

*^ Where do your father and mother live ?"

** I never had any father or mother."

** Where do you live ?"

" I don't live anywhere."

** Where do you sleep at night ?"

" Sometimes in the park, or under the arches of the bridges,
or in a doorway— any place that's comfortable."

The magistrate seemed a little perplexed. He continued his
questions :—

" Can you read and write ?"

« No : — ^nobody ever taught me."

" Do you ever go to church ?"

The boy seemed astonished at this question.

" Me go to church ! your worship, I ha'nt got no clothes to
go to church in."

The magistrate was obviously troubled by the replies of the
i^Tetched outcast before him ; he paused for a short time, and

QB^ THE RICH AND THE FOOB. 159

then, as if desirous to probe into the condition of the child with
still more minuteness, he asked him, in a mild tone: —

" Do you ever say your prayers ?"

" I never knowed any," replied the boy.

'*Do you not know," continued the magistrate, '^that it is
wrong to steal?"

^* I have no other way to get anything," said the boy, with
sidlen doggedness; ^^ nobody gives me anything, and nobody
cares for me."

*^ Have you no friend at all in the world ?"

The boy considered for a moment. " Yes," he said, " I had a
friend once."

*^ And who was that ?"

*^ It was Bill Smith; and when he was lagged for prigging a
gentleman's ticker, then I had nobody left to be my friend."

The magistrate remained in reflection for a short time.

'^ This is a most extraordinary case," observed Lord Manley
to him, in an under tone.

^^ Nothing extraordinary," replied the magistrate ; ^^ these cases
occur every day ; the difficulty is to know how to deal with
them. Where is the party to wh&m the bread belongs?" asked
the magistrate.

" He is expected every moment," replied the officer.

''It seems a thing hardly to be believed," observed Lord
Manley, '' that such a case of utter abandonment and destitution
as this can exist in a civilized country. What is to become of
this child ?"

"He will go on robbing untU he gets sent out of the country,
and that's the best thing, perhaps, that could happen to him.
But this is only a single example of thousands of persons of both
sexes and of all ages, who are in a state of destitution, nearly, if
not quite as bad as this. In London alone, there are not less
than fifteen or twenty thousand persons who do not know, when
they get up in the morning, where they shall get a meal during
the day, or where they shall sleep at night; and it is a remark-
able and perplexing &ct, that what is called the increase of the
wealth of the country, is accompanied, in the most curious pro^
portion, by an increase of poverty, destitution, and crime."

'' That is a most perplexing anomaly ; but may not the increase
of crime be the cause of the increase of the destitution ?"

160 FAMNY, THELITTLK MILLINKR :

^^ Supposing that to be the case^ it gives rise to a consideration
not less embarrassing : — that the increase of crime in a civilized
community is in proportion to the progress of its prosperity. But
I do not think it necessary to go into that question^ because^
from my own experience, I have the decided opinion, that
crime is almost in all cases the result of want and privation, and
of the unsettled state of mind produced by the constant irritation
of the precariousness of subsistence. I do not mean to say that
there are no exceptions ; but I speak of the generality of crimi-
nal ojBTenders^ amounting in number annually to not less than one
hundred thousand. To my mind, it is idle to expect amoral
reformation of the destitute poor until you effect an amelioration
in their physical condition. The great thing to be done, is to
remove the temptation — ^nay, I must go farther than that, and
almost say, the necessity of crime. People, in general, are well
enough inclined to be honest, if they are afforded the means of
being so ; but it is vain to attempt to put down, by penal enact-
ments, the offences which are the consequences of physical want
as well as of imperfect moral training."

" And yet the country produces suflScient wealth," observed
Lord Manley, " to enable ever^ one of its inhabitants to live in
a state of sufficiency and comfort"

" That is true ; and yet it may be computed that not less than
a million of the inhabitants of England alone live on the labour
of others ; not from any disinclination to work, and to contribute
their part to the general production of the wealth of the country,
but from the imperfect machinery of society, which allows the
wealth-creating power of so many human beings to be lost to
themselves and to the community. I have long since come to
the conclusion that it is not from any deficiency of the power of
creating wealth, or, in other words, of creating that which admi-
nisters to the necessities, the comforts, and the luxuries of mankind,
that the labouring classes of this country are in a state of such
physical, and consequently moral degradation, but that the evil
arises from the defect of the combinations of society, in the distri-
bution of its wealth. There is enough for all, and more than
enough for all ; but by some error in the social system, while
some few are immoderately rich, there are vast numbers dispro-
portionally poor, and many in absolute want of the daily neces-
saries of life. But, excuse me, I see the prosecutor has arrived ;
I must attend to the duties before me."

OR, TH£ men AND THE FOOB. 161

The owner of the roll proved his case in few words, but he
had no wish to prosecute.

" What will you do with the boy ?" asked Lord Manley.

" These cases are always painful and embarrassing. If I were
to let him oilf, he would only go into the streets again and rob the
next minute. The best thing to do, is to have him shut up
somewhere, to keep him out of mischief. Stand aside," he con-
tinued, addressing the juvenile delinquent ; ^^ I shall consider
what is to be done vnth you presently. — What is the next case ?"

"John Lode," said the clerk, "charged with sleeping in
Newgate Market in the open air 1"

" Let him stand forward," said the magistrate.

The individual called on to reply to the grave accusation of
being destitute and without a home, was an old man, apparently
bent down with the combined weight of age and want There
was a gaunt, hollow appearance in his look, and an expression
of sternness in his countenance that was bordering on defiance.
When he was placed at the bar, he put his brown hands, hardened
with labour, on the rail ; and, gathering himself up, as if with the
last ejBTort of despair, stood like an old stag at bay. Lord Manley
was much struck with his appearance.

" What have you to say to this charge ?" asked the magistrate.

The old man looked inquiringly, but said nothing.

" What have you to say to the charge," repeated the magistrate,
" of sleeping in the open air ?"

" Where was the harm ?" asked the old man.

" The law will not allow it," replied the magistrate, in a severe
tone ; and then, in a milder voice, he added, ^^ you must promise
not to repeat this offence, or I shall be obliged to commit you.
How old are you ?"

" Seventy-two."

" Have you no home ?"

" Home 1 where should the like of me find a home ? Now
that I am too old to work, where can I find a home ?"

** You ought to have been provident in your youth," said the
magistrate, " and have saved something against old age."

" Save 1" said the old man ; " what can a working-man save
out of the pay that he gets for his labour ? For two-and-sixty
years, man and boy, I have always worked hard when I could
get work to do, and never minded it while I had strength to do
it — and every day too; no holiday for a working-man ; all work;

162 FANNY, THE LTTTLB MILLINBB:

nothing but work ; no time for anything but work I And what
do we get for it? Just enough to keep body and soul together —
no more : those that have the money take care of that They
just give us enough to keep us a-going ; and then when they
have worked all our wcMrk out of us, and used us up, they look
on us like an old horse that's only fit for the knacker's."

^^ You must not talk in that way here," interposed the magis-
trate, in a tone of authority. ^^ I shall be obliged to deal severely
with you if you do not conduct yourself respectftdly."

'* What's the odds ? I say for two-and-sixty year I have
worked and toiled and sweated, living on scant &re — and some-
times on none — and all for the good of the rich folks; and now
when I am old and worn out, I am to be pimished because I
haven't got a home to go to I Dang it, that beats all I"

" You must go to your parish, and they will take you into the
workhouse."

" That's the same as saying, you must go to prison ; and wcnrse
than that, for in the prisons they tell me they do give you some-
thing to eat, but in the workhouse it^s downright starvation ; not
that it matters much perhaps which I go to, for I can't have long
to live anyhow — that's some comfort."

" I don't like to be severe with you," said the magistrate — ** at
your age especially ; but you must promise me not to lie about
in the streets at night, or I shall be obliged to commit you."
I can't promise ; I've nowhere else to go."
You must go to the workhouse."

I won't go to the workhouse ; if I must starve, I'll starve
outside, and at liberty. I'd rather lie and rot in the deepest
mine that ever was sunk, than go to a workhouse I"

** Is there any objection," asked Lord Manley, ** to my re*
lieving this old man ?"

" None in the world ; except that you will find that you will
have more oti your hands than you can provide for, if you give
relief to all who are destitute and without homes in this city."

'^ The old man has an honest look about him," said the Earl ;
^^ and I should like to do something for hiln. He comes firom'
the north, by his tongue. If you can with propriety discharge
him, I will engage that he shall not be brought up on this charge
again, for some time to come at least."

*^ Be it so," said the magistrate. ^^ John Lode, this gentleman
has the kindness to say be will assist you, if he findsi on inquiry.

if

OB, THB BICH AND THE POOB. 163

that jou deserve it You are discharged. What is the next
case ? — ^John Smith ; — ^bring up John Smith."

An officer in fiiU uniform, and of an imposing appearance,
stepped forward at this call, and announced to the magistrate,
with evident satisfaction, that the police had, at last, been suc-
cessful in capturing one of the most artM and desperate of a
gang of burglars the most cunning and ferocious that had ever
infested the metropolis, or defied the exertions of the police*
The two officers whom he should bring forward would prove
that the party was in the very act of breaking into a house when
he was taken, notwithstanding a desperate resistance on his part,
in which the officers had received many severe contusions.

This flourishing exordium produced a considerable excitement
in the crowd of the curious eager to have their ears regaled with
something out of the common way; and the miserable Snob
perceived to his horror that a whole army of reporters began
immediately, with professional glee, to prepare thcdr note-books
and to sharpen their pencils for his especial illustration.

*^ Bring forward the prisoner," said the magistrate, in a voice
which sounded to the exquisite like the knell of the last trumpet ;
and the wretched Maximilian Alexander Theodosius stood in
miserable plight before him.

CHAPTER XXV.

fns EXQtISITB APPEARS AT THB BAB. — ^AN UNEXPECTSI) ADVOCATE.—
INCIPIENT JEALOUST.— *JULIA*8 SOXJXOQUT.— FABIIT VISITS lADT SABUM.

"What is your name?" asked the magistrate, concentrating
in one penetrating look, which to the imhappy Snob seemed
quite ferocious, the appalling dignity of a whole bench of justices
— " what is your name ?"

" Thomas Smith," replied Snob, in a deprecating tone.

'^ He said John at the station-house," said the officer who con
ducted the case ; " but I'll be bound, your worship, he has a
dozen aliases."

Snob cast an imploring look at the officer.

<^ What name, man," said the magistrate, in an angry voice,
*• are you to ble known by ?"

164 FANNY, TUB LITTLE MILLINER:

"Any name," replied Snob. "I mean — that name — John
Smith."

" I am inclined to think you are a bad one," said the magis-
trate, shaking his head. ** Go on," — to the officer.

The officer produced his witnesses, who deposed that they
saw the prisoner in the act of endeavouring to open the street
door of the house by picklock keys, which, however, after the
most diligent search, they had not been able to find ; and they
conjectured they had been conveyed away by a confederate while
they were taking the prisoner to the station-house.

" Have you nothing more to bring forward than that ?" asked
the magistrate. " Did you find anything suspicious about his
person ?"

Lord Manley wished to interfere, but the magistrate requested
him to allow the case to take its course.

What did you find on him — any suspected property?"
Several things very suspicious," replied the officer, " which
prove that he had been at his tricks somewhere else before he
was taken. First, here's a handkerchief marked M. A. T. ; this
can't be his of course — ^picked fi:om some gentleman's pocket, as
I dare say we shall be able to prove."

"What else?"

" A pocket-book, with writing in it — all in French, belonging
to some foreign gentleman most likely ; and then this," said the
officer, displaying triumphantly a crimson silk purse with gold
tassels.

" Any money in it ?"

" Two tens, one five, and seven sovereigns. There can be no
doubt, your worship, that he had been picking pockets. He had
on this gold chain too, round his neck, quite oudacious — ^like as
if it was his own."

" Anything more ?"

^^ A pocket looking-glass, that looks as if it had been a good
deal used — some lady's, perhaps ; and a pair of tweezers."

" What are tweezers for — to pick pockets with ?"

" No, your worship, such chaps as these have 'em to pick the
hairs out of their eyebrows. And here's a fimny little brush
which we can't make out the use of; but one of our men says
it's what the foreigners have to smooth their moustaches. You
see, your worship, this chap has got moustaches : that's a new
go with 'em ; they think it makes 'em look nobbisb ; and with

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 165

the women it takes wonderfuL We thought they were sham
'uns at first, for there are regular places where you can hire a
pair for the day ; but when one of our men gave a pull at 'em, he
roared out quite natural."

Here Snob shuddered.

" Anything more ?"

^^ No, your worship ; only our man caught him, as I said before,
in the very act"

" What have you to say to this charge, man ?" said the magis-
trate, casting a severe look at the prisoner.

Lord Manley here interposed, and communicated privately to
the bench the real state of the case^ adding, that the party accused
was a gentleman of family and fortune, and that it was very de-
sirable that there should be no public exposure of the circum-
stances, as it could do no possible public good, and would only
give pain to his family^ &c.

** We must have the young lady here," said the magistrate ;
^^ it's very unpleasant, no doubt ; but as the fact has been posi-
tively deposed to^ I cannot discharge the prisoner without some
explanation. But I will hear the continuation of the case in my
private room; and in the meantime, cannot you contrive that
your friend should wash his face, and pay a little attention to his
p>^onal appearance ? He is a most deplorable object at present,
1 must say."

The prisoner was in consequence removed, and an officer
having been sent, with a polite note from the magistrate, to the
place of Julia's abode, that young lady in a short time arrived
with her mother, much flushed and embarrassed at making her
first appearance in public life on the boards of a police-office.
She made her statement with so much modesty, and blushed so
very prettily as she exculpated Mr. Snob fi'om any felonious in-
tentions, that she received the compliments of the magistrate ;
and the Honourable Maximilian, who had taken courage, and
brushed himself up for the examination, looked so little like a
housebreaker, that the young lady required no entreaty to induce
her to accept his apologies for his "indiscretion," as he called it,
of the preceding night. He added his earnest assurance, that had
he been aware of her being a daughter of Captain Makepeace he
never should have been guilty of the impropriety, &c. &c. The
matter being thus satisfactorily explained, and amends having
been made to the police-officers for the wounds they had received

166 FANHT^ THE LITTLB lOLLINn:

in the encounter^ the parties retired ; but to the extreme astonish-
ment of the rejoicing Maximilian, Miss Makepeace entered into
a conversation apart with Lord Manley, which was obviously
confidential, and indicative of a former acquaintance. The ex-
quisite had been so struck with Julia's personal attractions^ so
far beyond what he had surmised from his previous brief obser- .
vation of her, and he had been so penetrated with the charming
complaisance with which she had given her evidence in his fistvour,
that he viewed the seeming famiUarity of Lord Manley with a
feeling of jealousy which gave him a twinge of a novel and exces-
sively disagreeable description. However, he had the discretion
to keep his thoughts to himself; though he inwardly resolved to
keep a close watch on his friend's proceedings, which he sus-
pected had their object in other feelings than pure benevolence
of disposition. In this humour, he parted rather abruptly from
Lord Manley; but the latter was too. much occupied with his
own thoughts to observe the alteration in his manner, and quitted
him, with the intention of calling on Lord Sarum, and of offering
to accompany him on his tour through Italy.

JuUa returned home with her mother in a very sentimental
mood; and it was a remark that occurred afterwards to that
worthy lady, that in relating the event of the morning to M^9S
Sidney, she carefrdly avoided casting any ridicule on the ludicrcjps
misfortune of the deUnquent Maximilian. On the contrary, she
gave expression to several indulgent observations on the ^' wild
freaks" of ^^ young men ;" and seemed to regard him with a sort
of pity, as one who had suffered in her cause and on her account
With kindly intent, they proceeded at once to the residence of
.Mrs. Sidney, when Julia lost no time in making Fanny acquainted
;with her ^^ discovery."

" What do you think, Fanny ? Who do you think the Mr.
Manley is that came to us this morning? The secret came out
at the poUcc-office. He is an earl, my dear ; yes, my dear, an
earL There's for you I Only think of an earl taking so much
trouble, and doing a kindness, just like an ordinary person ! But I
don't think him so good-looking as the other; besides, he is so
very grave, and he has got no moustaches — I do think moustaches
make a man look so noble ! But only think that an earl has
actually carried you from the top of the stairs to the bottom !
Upon my word, little milliners are getting up in the world! How
did you feel, Fanny — a little frightened— -eh ?"

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOB. 167

A flush came over Fanny's face, as she replied, quietly, ** I was
not sensible, Julia, or you may be sure I should not have
allowed it.'* She laid down her work, and pressing her hand to
her forehead, seemed to be overcome with the recollection of that
terrible night A gloom came over the party at this retro-
spection, and they discoursed for a while on the sad fate of their'
late companion in distress.

^^ Don't you think. Mamma," said Julia, after an interval of
unusual silence on her part, *^ that the police are very hasty
sometimes, in taking people up — just for nothing ?**

** Upon my word, I think the police are very useful, and I
don't know what would become of us all without them."

There was another long silence.

" Mamma," suddenly asked Julia, " if poor Papa had lived he
might have been a general — ^might he not?"

Her mother laid down her work. " My dear Julia, what a
strange question to put to me I Certainly, your poor father
might have risen to the rank of general; but all that is past I
Finish your handkerchief, my dear ; all such thoughts had better
1)6 laid aside now ; we must submit to our condition."
^^"I have had to unpick my work three times," said JuUa,
^Mjing down her work disconsolately. " I really am so flurried
with everything that I can't do a stitch."

'* You had a lucky escape last night," said Fanny, without
taking her eyes from her work ; " I think it served the fellow
right for his impertinence ; a night in the station-house will be a
lesson to him."

" My dear Fanny," said Julia, a little hastily, and with just a
shade of testiness in her manner, *^ I wonder you can apply such
a term as ^fellow' to a gentleman; besides he is the son of a
nobleman, and those who are the wildest at first often turn out
the steadiest at last — don't they. Mamma ? Besides I have no
liking for your good young men — ^they are so insipid."

No one seemed inclined to contradict this assertion, and the
party relapsed into silence ; but presently Julia gave vent to her
thoughts, in a question addressed generally to the company: —

" I dare say Lord Manley will call again to inquire after Mrs.
Sidney, and I shouldn't wonder if that ^ poor fellow' was to come
with him to apolc^ize again for his ^ impudence.' But it would
not be right for me to see him after what has occurred ; — ^not
that I believe he really meant any harm ; and he expressed his

168 FANNT, THB LITTLE MILLINER:

regret in such a very gentlemanlike manner before the magis-
trate ; and said he should be happy to repeat his apology at a
more fitting opportunity — those were his very words, were they
not, Mamma ? Fanny, my dear," she added, with great serious-
ness, " do you really think that my hair looks better in curls than
* plain ? By the by, now I think of it, that light-blue ribbon, if
it was washed and ironed out nicely, would do very well for my
best bonnet. I think blue becomes me; what do you think,
Fanny — it isn't too light, is it? Good heavens ! what shall I do
for gloves ? I dropped my best pair last night, and I felt so
ashamed before the magistrate with these old things on — but I
was in such a flurry I Oh, dear I Life is full of troubles I as
you say, dear Mamma ; and the summer is coming on, and I
have no parasol fit to be seen ; my old one has such a hole in it !
Last summer I had to turn the good side of it to any one that
looked at me. But I think that buff dress will last another
season, and with blue ribbons — ^yes — that will match the bonnet
Fanny, how dull you are ! Why don't you talk ?"

But Fanny was too busily occupied with her work, to pay
much attention to Julia's conversation, and she was herself
engaged with her own sad thoughts. / She did not know ho^
she should summon up sufficient courage to call on Lady Sarum^
alone that afternoon, to apologize for not having her turban
completed, and to explain the reason of it Mrs. Sidney was able
to converse a little, and was free from pain, but she had not
strength to accompany her, and her constitution had evidently
received a shock from which the most fatal consequences were to
be apprehended. Then there was medical attendance to be
considered ; and how, Fanny thought, was it to be paid for ?
and she was herself weak and ill from the exhaustion of her
suffering On the previous night But her difficulties, and the
condition of her adopted and dear parent, only stimulated her to
greater exertion. She worked hard, therefore, at her task, and
endeavoinred to console her suffering mamma with cheering
assiu'ances of her own recovery. In this way the day of labour
— for whether in joy or in sorrow, the poor must labour — ^wore
on. With the assistance of JuUa, the important turban was com-
pleted, and the hour of the afternoon arrived when it was neces-
sary for Fanny to wait on Lady Sarum. Requesting Mrs.
Makepeace to accompany her — leaving Julia to take care of Mrs.
Sidney — the little milliner, carrying a band-box in her hand^ set
out on her way.

OR^ THB BICH AND THE POOR. 169

CHAPTER XXVL

X^SD OSAIIBBOBOUGh's TBATELS in town.— mist AKElf CHASITr.^EMBAlBASS-
MSNTS OF GOODNATUBE. — LUCIFES MATCHES, BATH BBICK8, AND CANABT
BIBDS.

It chanced that Lord Grandborough had taken it into his head
t:o make a tour of charitable inspection that mornings to which
lie was the more strongly prompted by the recollections to
^which the conversation on the subject of Lord Manley's Italian
picture had given rise the day before. The worthy peer was
much changed since the time when he had dismissed from his
door, unknowingly, the wife of his son, whose rejection had led
to consequences so disastrous. Instead of being the hard and
systematic opponent of casual relief to the suffering poor, he
had become the habitual dispenser of charitable donations with
almost undistinguishing profusion. The desire to atone for
his former hardness of heart had produced in him a nervous
sensibility to any tale of distress, amounting to weakness. There
was one point, however, to which his mind clung with the
pertinacious obstinacy of a systematizer ; and that was, the pro-
priety of turning his charitable gifts into the means of " setting
in motion," as his lordship was pleased to express it, ^*the
industrial capabilities " of the population. " If you give money,"
he was used to repeat, " you ought to do so for a definite
purpose ;— don't give it to be spent unprofitably ; but when you
see poor people doing all they can to earn an honest livelihood,
then help them. Buy the produce of their labour ; that induces
them to work, and preserves them in the habits of industry."
The learned Dr. Sawdust, who would have turned with disgust
from the enunciation of principles so abhorrent to his doctrines,
would have been not a little gratified could he have been the
spectator of the misadventure which befel the excellent peer's
determination to act up to his principles on the present
occasion.

The Earl had strolled farther in his walk that morning than
was his wont, and had accidentally wandered into districts

N

170 FAKNTy THB LITTLE MILLINER:

known to the aristocratic classes only by their description in the
maps. In this way he had penetrated into the distant region of
Brunswick Square, which roused his observation much in the
same way as the curiosity of the enterprising traveller is excited
by the discovery of a new country in the depths of an interior yet
unexplored, and peopled by an unstudied race of inhabitants.
It was in this distant spot that the Earl, stopping to look about
him, and filled with a sort of wonder as to where he could pos-
sibly be, was accosted by an old man, dressed very shabbily but
cleanly, with a box of lucifer matches — a favorite stock with
his numerous firatemity, which for some mysterious reason
operates as a talismanic charm to protect the mendicant firom
the fatal consequences of the laws against begging in the
streets.

The old man said nothing, but, with a mute eloquence more
expressive than words, took oiSF his hat, exposing to the air his
venerable gray hairs, and held out his commodity in a timid
and supplicating manner. This was too evident an appeal to
charity to be passed over; but the peer took a pride in showing
that he was not ignorant of the value of articles of commerce.
With an air, therefore, partly benevolent and partly significant
of the practical information supposed to be possessed by a
president of the Board of Trade, he shook his head at the old
man, and remarked,

** Poor trade, that, my man."

The old man made no reply; but looked at his box of
matches, and then at his threadbare garments, barely covering
his limbs — ^and then at the person of his questioner. And then
he again proffered his matches : — it was a study for an artist ; —
a melo-dramatic actor might have taken a lesson firom him.

" How many of these boxes," asked the peer, in a conde-
scending tone, but still business-like, " must you sell before you
can gain a shilling ? "

" They are only a penny a piece," replied the old man, in
feeble accents, and with a strong Irish brogue ; « and it's a hard
matter to get anything by them any way. Some people buy 'em
at the penny, and some good gentlemen and ladies give me the
penny and leave the box for me ; — ^but I am in great distress,
and very hungry, he added," cautiously looking round to see
if any policeman was in sight, and extending one hand with
his hat for charity, while with the other he withdrew his box of

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 17 1

matches behind him, " and any trifle that your honour could
give would have an old man's blessings, and the blessings of his
fiitherless children!"

But the peer was not to be cajoled into bestowing charity in
any other way than his own.

" How many boxes have you got to sell ?" his lordship asked,
with as much as possible the air of a dealer.

The old man produced from some curious recesses of his gar-
ments a tolerable stock ; the Earl counted them carefully ; there
were twenty-four.

** Four-and-twenty, at a penny a piece, come to two shillings,"
said the Earl, taking the money from his pocket The vendor
of matches looked surprised ; he had not been accustomed to
dealings in such a wholesale way ; but as it was a fair bargain
and sale, he could do nothing, though considerably disappointed
at the result, but hand over to the buyer the whole of his stock
in trade, and receive the price ; at the conclusion of which
transaction the Earl, wishing him success in his occupation, and
throwing in a few moral observations on the evil practices of
begging, and the propriety of every man seeking to earn his
bread by his industry, disposed of the matches in the pockets of
his coat, and proceeded homewards with considerable satisfaction
at having exercised his benevolence, without any departure from
his system; besides — ^without counting the matches — the bless-
ings were cheap at the money. In this state of pleasurable
excitation he arrived near his own house, when he was accosted
by another applicant, carrying a moderate load of Bath bricks ;
to whom, as he was evidently pursuing an industrious calling,
the peer was immediately inclined to pay favourable attention.
But unfortunately the merchandize of this fresh suppliant for
relief was of a nature not so commodious for transport as the last,
and the benevolent peer was embarrassed for a moment how to
act The man, however, was too urgent in his appeal to allow
him to hesitate; — "sick wife" — "young children" — "unfortu-
nate mechanic " — " hard times " — " out of work " — were uttered
in an accent of the deepest distress, and with a volubility that
was absolutely astonishing. He saw plainly that he had a
benevolent old gentleman to deal with, though if he had been
aware of the rank of his customer he would no doubt have made
more of the opportunity.

" Only buy one, good gentleman. It is to get bread — it is

N 2

4C

172 FANNT^ THE UTTLE BflLUNBR:

indeed — to get a morsel of bread for my poor famishing chil-
dren."

What is the price," asked the peer, true to his system,
of those things ?"

Four-pence for a brick ; cheap as dirt ; here are four of
them ; take 'em all, your Honour, for a shiUing."

The Earl was by no means learned in the qualities of Bath
bricks, and he was rather embarrassed how to dispose of such
weighty commodities; but as he mechanically took out the
money and held it with a hesitating air between his fingers, the
vendor of Bath bricks, with a sudden burst of exclamation at
his purchaser's liberality, suddenly transferred them to the arms of
the astonished peer, and possessinghimself of the shilling, immedi-
ately disappeared, and dived into the public-house round the comer.

The bricks were heavy ; and the Earl, imaccustomed as he
was to appear in public as the carrier of such unaristocratic
curiosities, was inclined to place them on the pavement, and
leave them for the benefit of the first comer ; but his much-
cherished system prevailed, and he determined to remain the
possessor of the property of which he had become the charitable
owner. He looked round, however, for some one to assist him
in conveying the articles to his own house, by which course he
should perfect the transaction, he considered, in a business-like
manner, and at the same time give temporary occupation to
some one seeking for industrious employment But he could
see no one to whom he could apply. Thus compelled either to
abandon his principles or carry the bricks himself, he chose the
latter alternative ; allowing himself, however, so far to com-
promise liis dignity as to stow them away in the pockets in
which he had deposited the lucifer match-boxes ; forgetting the
inflammable nature of the materials which he was exposing to
such dangerous propinquity. The bricks dangling behind, im-
peded his progress woefully, and as they knocked against the
calves of his legs, he was more than once tempted to disen-
cumber himself of his uneasy load : but principle triumphed ;
besides, he looked on himself as a sort of martyr to the cause
and the principles he had espoused ; so, wrapping himself up in
his virtue and his capacious coat, which he buttoned with a
vigorous determination, he proceeded sturdily on. The una-
voidable slowness of his pace, however, exposed him, before he
reached the end of the street, to another attack.

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 173

One of those itinerant dealers in supposed canary birds, who
prowl about in search of the simple and unwary, marked him
for a victim, lie had, in an indescribably small cage, a re-
markably fine sparrow ; curiously transformed, by a process of
manufacture known only to the ingenious, into a brilliant canary,
of a splendid yellow colour. Thus provided, he confronted the
Earl with a doleful countenance. Now, among all the variety
of articles that the excellent peer had picked up in the course
of his peregrinations, and in the upholding of his system, it had
never been his lot to make a purchase of this description ; and
being already heavily laden with his last acquisitions, he was
inclined to resist the present appeal to his feelings. At first
therefore he refused, but with a denial so mild as to encourage
rather than repel the assaults of his aggressor. Besides, he was
obliged to walk so slow that he had no chance of escape ; and
the proprietor of the canary bird had full opportunity not only
to expatiate on the extraordinary qualities of the article, but to
descant with professional pathos on his own distresses, and that
of his wife and children, all lying sick of a fever, and of his
grandfather and grandmother, including various other relations,
whose bread that day, he solemnly averred, altogether depended
on the success of his exertions. The wonderful little bird, he
sidded, had been taught with prodigious labour to go through a
'variety of surprising performances, — amongst which, however,
lis owner refi*ained from mentioning the astonishing one un-
^escribed by Linnaeus, of a spontaneous change from the
<janary to the cock-sparrow species. At last the kind-hearted
peer, moved by a pathetic description of unexampled distress —
the story of which the relator had got by heart that very morning,
having paid the sum of two-pence for the composition thereof to a
professional scribe, skilful in such inventions, — consented to make
the purchase ; declining the accommodation which the seller
offered of taking an old coat in exchange. The Earl paid the five
shillings demanded, and became the fortunate possessor of the
rarity; which the seller immediately placed on the pavement,
and moving off at a quick pace was seen no more. As the Earl
was not far from his own door, he determined, true to his
system, to convey his purchase thither ; and thus provided with
articles of utility and luxury, he arrived, to the infinite amaze-
ment of those who witnessed his appearance, at his house in
■ Square.

174 FANNY, THE LITTLK MILLINER:

CHAPTER XXVII.

A SUPPOSED BXCOGNITION.*— FEIOHT. — ^FANNT*8 WONDEB.-^AN EXPLOSION.

In the meantime, Fanny, carrying her bandbox, and accompanied
by Mrs. Makepeace, arrived at Grandborough House. It was
on a mild afternoon in the month of May that the unconscious
girl first set her foot on the threshold of the noble mansion where,
more than sixteen years before, her mother had been driven as
a rejected suppUant for charity. In the humility of her poverty
she shrunk from the awful interview with the high-bom peeress,
whom she pictured to herself as combining all the haughtiness of
aristocratic pride, with the supercilious contempt, so often undis-
guisedly expressed by the Rich towards the Poor. Her heart
fluttered, and she hesitated : —

" Shall I knock or ring ?" she asked of her fi'iend.

** Give a very gentle knock," replied her companion ; *^ just
three sHght tat-tats.'*

Fanny placed her little hand on the knocker, and was con-
sidering how she could contrive a knock of sufficient humility
corresponding with her condition, in her summons at the rich
man's door, when a portly personage, bearing a bird in a dirty
cage, arrived before the house, stopped for a moment to take
breath, and then ascended the steps with the air of one who was
at home. Fanny and Mrs. Makepeace drew back ; for there was
a something in the air of the gentleman, who seemed far past the
middle time of life, which betokened a self-confidence in his
right of admission, though his immediate occupation did not
convey the impression of his being the noble owner of the aris-
tocratic mansion.

Lord Grandborough, for it was the noble Earl himself, exhi-
bited an appearance of depression caused by excessive fatigue ;
albeit there was that in his countenance expressive of the " secret
satisfaction" which " good men feel who have done a virtuous
action." Seeing some one with a something in a box, it imme-
diately occurred to him that the bearer was another claimant on
his benevolence with articles for charitable sale; but Fanny,

'HIBIJJ __ __ ____

•^jjii HiTi 111 Mtjsait

OB, TBB BICU AND THE POOS. 175

observing that the old gentleman was embarrassed with his stick
in one hand and his birdcage in the other, which left neither at
liberty to use the knocker; and glad, besides, to devolve on
another the responsibility of summoning the porter to the door,
asked in her gentle voice :
" Will you allow me, sir, to hold the birdcage for you?*
There could not well be, it would seem, a more simple ques-
tion ; but the old gentleman, fixing his eyes on the young girl,
and scanning her features with an earnest and frightened look,
as if struck by some extraordinary recollection, let Ml the cage ;
thereby performing another act of generosity by giving liberty
to the captive, which at once rejoined its brethren on the house-
tops ; while they, like unplumaged bipeds of a larger growth,
instantly attacked the innovator with packings and revilings for
presuming to appear different from themselves. Lord Grand-
borough gave a knock so plainly authoritative, that Dennis, now
grown fat and burly, opened it with instinctive promptitude.
The Earl entered without looking behind him, and overcome
either by emotion or fatigue, plumped himself down on one of
the hall chairs. It was then that the fact of his benevolent toils
of the morning blazed into light I The lucifer matches, violently
compressed between the bricks, instantaneously ignited, and
th^ir quantity being sufficient to furnish the ingredients of a
respectable firework, the explosion was commensurate with the
strength of the composition, and the alarmed nobleman made a
spring firom the chair, which, as Dennis confidentially remarked
to the under butler, was quite wonderful for a gentleman of his
years, particularly as he had never seen his master jump before*
But the matches continuing to inflame with a succession of ex-
plosions, and with a whizzing noise like smothered squibs, the
poor old gentleman, much in the same condition as a mad dog
with a tin kettle tied to his tail, made frantic plunges to escape
from the volcano in his rear, which presently affected him with
a sensation of heat calcutated to give rise to still more painful
anticipations. In this way he galloped round and round the
hall, the bath bricks serving as ballast to keep his coat-tails in
close proximity to his person, and the lucifers detonating, box
after box, as if in rivalry one with another as to which should go
off fiercest and fastest It was in vain that Dennis and other
domestics who had quickly assembled, endeavoured to put a stop
to the explosions of the detonators, filled with wonder as they

176 FANNTj THE LITTLE MILLINER:

were as to the cause of their respected master appearing in the
character of an ambulatory Mount Vesuvius; till at last the
porter, more determined in his character from his habitual avo-
cations than the rest, tore off his master's coat, and flung it in a
comer, v^here it continued to vomit forth sparks and noises like
an angry cracker ; while Lord Grandborough, in a very nervous
state after his pyrotechnic display, vras supported to his ovrn
apartment

The attention of the house was then drawn to Fanny and her
companion, who had retired during Lord Grandborough's per-
formance to a corner of the hall. Dennis looked at Mrs. Make-
peace, and looked at Fanny with an air of doubt as to the
important point of the- exact position of the females in the social
scale. On the one hand there was a ladylike air in both, which
Dennis from long experience had learned to distinguish; but on
the other his practised eye detected a certain expression in the
countenances of both, which denoted they were not at ease in
their visit. The bandbox, too, was a very suspicious object;
this last consideration decided him. Without much ceremony
he asked,

" What may be your business ?"

Fanny looked at her friend, hoping that she would reply to
this question ; for as it was the first time that she had stood in the
presence of the Janus of a rich man's mansion, she was at a loss
how to propitiate so important a personage. But Mrs. Make-
peace looked at Fanny in return, as if expecting her to state her
business. In the meantime the vigilant Dennis was searching
her with his looks, and examining her countenance with much
attention.

** I am come," said Fanny, " to call on — to see — I mean to
wait on — Lady Sarum. I have brought home," she added,
growing exceedingly red as she stated her errand, and pointed to
her bandbox, " I have brought home her ladyship's turban."

Dennis piqued himself on being gallant ; that is, so far as the
serious nature of his duties would permit; he was pleased to
regard the " young person," therefore, with a smiling air, as he
rang a bell to communicate the message to the proper functionary.

" You have been here before," he condescended to remark.

" No," replied Fanny, looking round at the splendid appear-
ance of the place, " I was never here before."

« Some time ago," suggested Dennis ; " I am sure I have seen

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 177

your face before. It must have been some time ago," he added,
musingly.

** You have never been here before, Francesca," said Mrs.
Makepeace.

" Francesca^ Francesca," repeated the porter, trying to recal
some long-forgotten incident ; *^ Francesca," he continued to
himself, " I'm sure I have heard that name before, and I have
seen that face before ; — it's just like the picture of the Virgin in
St Mary's Church. Yes, — no, — that can't be; that is years
ago ; more than a dozen years ago, (a pretty confusion there was
about it I) and this girl is quite young : no, — it can't be that"
He looked at her again and again, endeavouring to bring to his
recollection all the circumstances of that old affair ; and he had
ample leisure to examine the face of the young girl, as they were
compelled to wait some time until Lady Sarum had recovered the
agitation which had been caused to her by the accident to Lord
Grandborough, whose eccentricities had long been a source of
considerable anxiety to his daughter-in-law.

Dennis's cogitations were interrupted by Lady Sarum's own
maid.

This complacent individual was dressed in the most fashion-
able style ; and if it had not been for a certain air which un-
erringly betrayed her station, she might have been mistaken, from
her attire, for the mistress of the mansion herself. Carelessly
thrusting her hands into two little pockets of an exceedingly
coquettish apron, she mincingly inquired of Fanny, ** If she was
the * young person' whom her lady expected ?"

Fanny, though a little abashed by the distinguished air of the
inquirer, summoned up courage to answer in the affirmative;
and, preceded by the lady's maid, who had condescended to
make her inquiry in person, she was invited to walk up stairs,
leaving Mrs. Makepeace waiting humbly in the hall. A door
was opened, the lady's maid assumed a demure look, and Fanny
found herself in the presence of Lady Sarum.

178 FANNY, TtfE LITTLE HILLIMBB:

CHAPTER XXVIIL

INTERVIEW BETWEEN LADT SABUM AND FANNT, THE LXTTLB BOIXINEB.

Lady Sarum received the little milliner in her dressing-room^
adjoining her favorite boudoir. A costly toilet-table of rare
taste and surpassing richness^ the possession of which an empress
might have envied, stood in a principal position between two
windows; opposite was a splendid looking-glass, occupying a
large portion of the wall, which, where it was left unoccupied by
choice specimens of cabinet pictures, was ornamented with a
paper of white satin of the softest hue, bordered with running
wreaths of roses executed with exquisite skill. On various tables
tastefully displayed were valuable specimens of curious china;
jars from the East, from which exhaled a delicious perfume;
grotesque monsters of Chinese ware ; antique groups from Dres-
den, in quaint costumes ; baskets from Sevres, containing natural
flowers fresh-gathered from princely conservatories built at a
prodigious expence by the grandfather of Lord Sarum. The
carpet, of soft and luxurious velvet, which adorned this sanctuary
of aristocratic refinement, was of a claret ground, interspersed
with bouquets of flowers on which the foot hesitated to tread.
A chandelier of elaborately cut glass, sparkling like diamonds,
depended from the ceiling, in which were placed tapers of fragrant
wax prepared for instant use, and in numbers sufficient to shed a
brilliant light over the whole of the spacious apartment.

Lady Sarum was seated on a couch of the fashion of the court
of Louis le Grand, elaborately carved and gorgeously gilt, and
covered with rich crimson brocade of a variegated pattern, cor-
responding with the easy chairs and ottomans disposed invitingly
around.

Fanny cast a furtive and timid glance over the splendour which
surrounded her, and waited with a modest air for the divinity of
this enchanting temple to speak her pleasure. But the mistress
of the mansion remained for some time silent, her brow clouded
with anxious thought, and her eyes red as it seemed with recent
tears — justifying the ancient proverb, that Care not only invades

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 179

the dwellings of the humble, but penetrates into the palaces of the
great ; and exhibiting in mocking contrast the uncompensating
vanity of wealth and the sorrow of the heart which all humanity
is heir to. The vivacious waiting-woman, hushed into respectful
silence by the aspect of her mistress, executed her little com-
missions about the room noiselessly and promptly ; and Fanny,
to whom the protracted silence of the lady gave time to recover
her thoughts, studied the features of her patroness with awakened
interest The predominant characteristic of Lady Sarum's coun-
tenance, Fanny could not fall to remark, was softness and good-
nature, with that peculiar air of quiet self-possession which those
who are bom to greatness'acquirc from the early habit of receiv-
ing deference as due to their birth, and from their social rank
being fixed and determined ; a considerable advantage which they
possess over persons of questionable grades, who, from their posi-
tion in society being less determined, arc apt to betray uneasiness
from the fear with which they are perpetually haunted of their
nferits or pretensions being neglected or overlooked. After the
lapse, however, of little more than a minute, which her waiting-
woman thought immeasurably long, but which seemed to Fanny
very short, the peeress spoke. Regarding Fanny with an air of
kindness and surprise, and powerfully struck with the incongruity
of the aristocratic-looking air which she bore, and the plebeian
bandbox which she carried, she asked,

** Are you the young person who was to bring my turban home
to-day ?"

** It is here," replied Fanny, opening her box, and reddening
as she spoke.

Lady Sarum observed her confusion ; she made a sign to her
waiting-maid, who, advancing with a sprightly step, took the
elegant appendage from its case, and presented it to her mistress^

Her ladyship examined it with great care, and was pleased to
express her approbation of the taste displayed in its workmanship
in flattering terms. Her waiting-maid, who had conceived for
the litde milliner that instinctive feeling of aversion with which
almost every woman at first regards one of the same sex who is
prettier than herself, took occasion, with the decision of an artiste,
and the pertness of a lady's-maid, to differ from her ladyship's
opinion : —

** Your ladyship forgets," she said — casting a forced smile at the
little milliner, which spoke as plainly as such a smile could speak.

180 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINERS

that the fear of a rivalry in her mistress's good graces prompted
the remark, as much as the desire to maintain her character for
taste as the conservator of her mistress's person: — **your lady-
ship forgets that your ladyship's dress is light blue and silver,
and the tissue of the turban is red ; why your ladyship would
look like a poll-parrot I" And saying this she ventured to give
a triumphant glance at the young milliner, as if she considered
that her prompt detection of the false association of colours was a
settler.

" True," said Lady Sarum, " but, perhaps the * young person'
could make another in time. Did you put this turban together
yourself, my good girl ?"

"The materials were brought to me to make up by my
mamma," (the lady's-maid made a grimace at the word " mamma"
and tossed her head in a significant manner,) "and I had no
choice," said Fanny.

" Then it was not your fault, my good girl," good-naturedly ob-
served the peeress ; " you see, Alice," she said, addressing hfer
prime minister, " it was not the young person's fault; and you caia
alter it, I dare say," turning to Fanny: "but you will not have
time to take it home ; could you not make it up here if we fur-
nished you with what is wanted for your work ?*'

Fanny curtsied, and said something to intimate her assent.

" Go, Alice," said Lady Sarum, " and put the things that are
necessary in the dressing-room boudoir ; and the ^ young person '
can finish it there, without being disturbed. And tell Martin to
let me know directly my lord returns from Eton."

The waiting-maid lingered as if waiting to be accompanied by
the little milliner ; but her mistress motioned her to retire.

" You need not come," she added, " till I ring ; I wish to have
some conversation with this ^ young person.' "

" Certainly, my lady, as your ladyship pleases I" ejaculated the
indignant waiting-maid at this pointed affront in excluding her
from deliberations in which her mistress's attire was concerned ;
" certainly, your ladyship, if your ladyship thinks I cannot be of
any use ; it is your ladyship's wish that I should not come up till
your ladyship rings? Oh ! certainly, your ladyship ! I dare say
the ^ young person' knows best what will become your ladyship;"
and so saying she cast a look of fury, disguised in the shape of a
terrific smile, at the " young person " who it seemed had thus
usurped her functions, and with manifest symptoms of being in a

OB| THE RICH AND THE POOB. 181

State highly combustible^ she ambled in a zig-zag direction across
the room, and made a dramatic exit, giving vent to her passion
in an attempt almost to slam the door. Her mistress did not
observe, or did not condescend to notice this display of pettish-
ness, but turning to the milliner, examined her with much at-
tention.

Lady Sarum had been solicited to join a benevolent association
of ladies of rank and influence, desirous of alleviating the hard-
ships, privations, and temptations to which the class of young
females in the employment of milliners and dress-makers is parti-
cularly exposed ; and she was desirous of learning something of
their actual condition, from one who she presumed was qualified
to give information on the subject, and whose youth rendered it
likely that she would communicate the real truth of the matter,
without attempt at disguise or exaggeration.

" You may sit down," she said, pointing to a chair ; on the edge
of which Fanny seated herself in an attitude of humility. ** Have
you been brought up to this employment ?" continued her lady-
ship, in an encouraging tone : " how long have you been study-
ing the art of millinery ; you seem very young, what is your
age?"

" I am seventeen, I believe," said Fanny ; " but I don't know
exactly."

** Don't know your own age, my good girl," observed Lady
Sanim, smiling ; *' you are too young to care for concealing it at
your years ; did you never have the curiosity to ask your mother
your age ?"

" Mamma does not know it exactly," replied Fanny, ** but she
thinks I must be about seventeen — ^but not quite."

Lady Sarum made a little gesture of surprise at this odd com-
munication of the Ignorance of a mother respecting the age of
her own child. She was inclined to regard Fanny as deficient in
intellect ; but there was something about the brow and the eyes
of the " young person," which contradicted that supposition.
But the incident was amusing ; and her ladyship could not resist
the inclination to indulge for a short space in the subdued
merriment which so novel a circumstance gave rise to. She
pursued the inquiry.

** I think I saw yoiur mother at the rooms," she continued ; " an
elderly and very respectable-looking person ?" she added, kindly.

*^ Yes," replied Fanny, hesitatingly, and speaking with some

182 FANKT, THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

embarrassment, ** it was Mrs. Sidney ; my mamma — that is, not
my mamma exactly !'* — and here she stopped.

" Don't know her age exactly !" thought Lady Sarum, — " and
her mamma is not her mamma exactly! — ^what a strange girl ! No
wonder these poor things give way to temptation, when their
state of ignorance is such that they don't know their own age,
nor their own mother * exactly 1' But she is an exceedingly
handsome girl: poor thing I" — Her ladyship had really a kind
heart, and was of a most benevolent disposition; she felt compassion
for the humble girl before her: but as she was desirous of
obtaining information of the actual condition of the class to
which the "young person" belonged, she was desirous of testing
her further; for, as she argued to herself, the information, to be
useful, must proceed from some one who has at least common
sense to guide her in her replies to inquiries.

" My good girl," she said, aloud, " you really surprise me when
you say that you do not know your own age exactly ! And
what do you mean by Mrs. Sidney ? — that was the name, was it
not? — What do you mean by your mamma not being your
mamma, exactly ?"

Fanny raised her eyes to the countenance of the peeress, and
seeing there only the expression of interest and benevolence,
she now answered without hesitation :

" My story," she said, ** is a strange one and a sad one : but I do
not know that I ought to trouble your ladyship with the history
of my misfortunes and troubles ; I never knew my father — nor
my mother."

This exordium was quite sufficient to stimulate the desire of
Lady Sarum to hear more ; for in every condition of life, the
characteristic curiosity of the sex never fails to display itself on
all occasions.

" Come nearer to me !" she said to Fanny ; ** sit there. How is
this ! Do you mean that you do not know who were your
parents ? Who is this Mrs. Sidney, then ? — and how did you come
to live with her as her daughter ? You may tell me all you know,
my good girl ; and perhaps," added her ladyship, " I may be able
to assist you in some way."

At this moment the lady's-maid knocked at the door, and
immediately entering, beheld to her astonishment the " young
person" in close and intimate conference with her mistress, and,
as it seemed, in the very act of extraordinary — confidential con-
versation ! This was almost too much for the nerves of the jealous

it

OB^ THE BICH AND THE POOR. 183

Abigail ; it was a sort of defiance on the part of her mistress of
a lady's-maid's supremacy ! That the conference could relate
to any other matter than those appertaining to caps and turbans
never entered her imagination !

"What is the matter?" asked her ladyship; who was struck with
her air of mingled astonishment and indignation.

" Nothing is the matter, my lady," — alternately regarding her
mistress and the suspicious * young person;' "only my Lord
Grandborough is in the library, and Martin requested me to say
that he had been inquiring for your ladyship."
Very well," said her mistress ; " you may go."
Perhaps your ladyship would like me to arrange the drawers
of the toilet-table ? I saw that the flowers in the top one were
all crumpled this morning, dreadfully I"

*' Not now," said her ladyship, quickly, — for she was anxious to
Lear the story of the little milliner ; " you may leave us now."

" And your ladyship's dress wants getting ready ; and there is
a dreadful deal to do," added her persevering minister, "and your
ladyship likes everything to be ready in time."

" Never mind : there — there — that will do ; 1 have something
to say to this ^ young person :' you may go — you may go."

"Go !" ejaculated the mortified waiting-maid, as she sought the
privacy of her own apartment, to revolve unobserved the insults
which she had received at the hands of her unworthy mistress,
and not forgetting in her anger the share which the " young
person" had in her disgrace : — " Yes ; I'll go I and go I will !
I'll not stay here to be put upon by every nobody who comes
into the house! There's Lady Carmine dying to have me;
and then let her ladyship (meaning her mistress) see who she
will get to arrange her turbans — there's not one in a thousand
can arrange a turban properly. But I'll go — 1 will I Til not
stay here to be insulted in this way : and all through a little —
mean — pale-faced — bandbox-carrying minx — that is no better
than she should be, I dare say — if the truth was known !"
Having given vent to these exclamations, the lady's maid felt
easier ; but it was not before she had studied herself for nearly
ten minutes in her glass that she recovered sufficient compo-
sure of mind to seek, in the society of the sympathizing Mr.
Martin, some solace in her affliction. She would have felt pangs
still more bitter had she been aware of the interest which the
impertinent little milliner was awakening in the heart of her
compassionate mistress.

184 FANNY THE LITTLB MILLINER:

CHAPTER XXIX.

FAKKT RELATES HER STORT.«-THE LABT's-MAID.— JEALOUSY.

" Do you mean that you do not know who were your parents ?'*
repeated her ladyship, regarding Fanny with increased interest.

" I have never been able to discover them," replied Fanny ;
" I know only that two persons, a man and a woman, — ^who
the captain said were not my parents, but who had the care
of me — ^were proceeding with me to America; the ship was
wrecked, and only I with the captain and another man were
saved. Mrs. Sidney took charge of me ; she was then residing
with her husband, in flourishing circumstances, at New York.
Mr. Sidney made many inquiries after my parents, but he could
discover nothing. About two years since they came to England.
Mr.' Sidney lost all his fortune, and died, leaving his widow with
nothing to support her. Since then I have helped to earn by
my work enough for our subsistence in the humble way in
which we live ; and I thank God that I have been able to con-
tribute something in return for all the kindness, never to be
repaid! which I have received from my good — my excellent
mamma P

*^ You are a good girl, I have no doubt," said Lady Sarum,
searching for her handkerchief. " This is a sad tale ! Have you
no clue whatever to your real name ?'*

" Only one," replied Fanny.

" And what is that ?"

" It is this ;" drawing her gold cross from her bosom.

" It is a very elegant thing," said the peeress, examining it
with attention ; *• and what is this engraved on it ? * Francesca ;'
that is more like a foreign than an English name ; — you sup-
pose that this cross may have belonged to your mother ; and this
is the name which you have adopted ?"

'^ It is."

**This is an ornament," continued her ladyship, "which cer-
tainly must have been the property of no mean person.
How did you becQme possessed of it ?"

OR, THB RICH AND THE POOR. 185

" It was found carefully attached to me, when I was saved
from the sea.**

** Then it would seem that the persons who had you in their
charge considered that this cross would be of importance in
identifying you?"

" We have always thought so," said Fanny ; " and it was for
that reason that it has been carefully preserved, notwithstanding
all our difficulties and privations,"

** You have gone through much suffering, then ?" said the
peeress. " I fear there is more secret suffering among respect-
able persons reduced to poverty than the world ever knows of!
But at any rate you have always" — her ladyship hesitated as she
spoke — *' you have always had a shelter for your head — and the
aliments necessary for your health ?"

Not always," said Fanny, her voice subdued by emotion.
My poor girl," said Lady Sarum, much affected, " this is
very terrible! to want food in the midst of such abundance ! My
child, yours is a romantic and a sorrowful story : but I am
glad that I have heard it ; for I will confess I was nearly form-
ing an opinion not favourable to you. How necessary it is
before judging any one to know their real circumstances ! Even
that cross (sacred relic as it is) I was disposed to think — from the
riband being visible round your neck — was some light love-
token. — Come in !" said her ladyship, in reply to a knock at
her door.

Her maid entered.

The countenance of the damsel bore a very serious expression ;
and she advanced towards her mistress — against whom she was
plotting the treason of a prompt desertion, with the air of an
injured martyr.

" My Lord Grandborough, my lady, has been inquiring for
your ladyship again, and Mr. Martin requested me to say, that
he was in the library with Dr. Sawdust," (she knew that her lady
hated Dr. Sawdust ; she repeated his name twice, therefore, to
annoy her,) " and Lord Manley :" — and having said this, without
making any attempt to remain, she backed herself out with a
formal air, and majestically retired.

Lady Sarum might have taken notice of her remarkable de-
meanor, and the air of fixed determination which was visible in the
features of her handmaiden, had not her attention been excited
by the sudden embarrassment of Fanny, who, at the mention of

o

186 FANinr, the little bolliner:

Lord Manley's name instantly coloured up, till all that was
visible of her neck and fece became crimsoned with blushes.

^^Are you acquainted with Lord Manley?" inquired the
peeress, with some surprise, and in a voice in which might be
detected the slightest possible intonation of displeasure.

Fanny related the story of her midnight vigil by the bedside of
the dying girl ; Mrs. Sidney's accident ; and Lord Manley's kind
interference. She related also, though with considerable hesita-
tion, that Lord Manley had carried her down stairs in his arms
in her death-like swoon ; she was very particular to impress it on
Lady Sarum that she was quite insensible at the time : and here
she blushed more deeply than ever.

" This must be looked to," said Lady Sarum, speaking to her-
self aloud; "young noblemen ought not to be nurses to hand-
some young girls after this fashion." She desired Fanny to ring
the bell for her waiting-maid.

" This young lady," she said to her astonished maid, " will sit
in my boudoir adjoining, till I return. Go, my dear girl," she
said to Fanny, — (« dear girl ! — what's the meaning of all this?") —
** and proceed with the alteration of the turban ; that will both
employ and amuse you. My maid will attend to you." Her
ladyship then descended to the library.

*^ This way, Miss I if you please," said the lady's-maid, indig-
nant to the last degree at having assigned to her the ofBce of
waiting on a milliner's girl. " This way. Miss ! — Here are needles,
Miss ! and thread. Miss ! and a thimble, and scissors. Miss I Is
there anything else that you may please to want. Miss ? — Very
well — Miss ! Then, with your permission. Miss I I will retire,
Miss ! — Well !" she exclaimed, as she closed the door on Fanny,
and recovered her breath, — " well ! I never !"

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 187

CHAPTER XXX.

DB. SAWDUST EXPATIATES ON POLITICAL BCONOBfT. — LOUD MAlfLBT TAKES
THE LIBBBTT TO DIFFEB IN OPINION FROM THE LEABNEB DOCTOB. —
LADT SABUM*S COMMUNICATION.

Ladt Saruh, on her entrance into the library, had only time
to say to Lord Manley that she had an interesting story to tell
him, before the attention of the company was engrossed by an
animated discussion between two combatants who had on more
than one occasion engaged in similar controversies.

Among the visitors assembled in the library, — where at a side-
table a tray of the usual mid-day refreshments was standing, —
the most conspicuous, if not the most distinguished, was the
celebrated Dr. Sawdust, with whom in former times Lord
Grandborough took delight to hold congenial converse on his
lordship's favourite topic, — " The treatment of the Poor." Owing
to the retirement in which the Earl had lived for many years,
the Doctor had not become aware of the change which had
taken place in his noble friend's opinions. For his own part, that
doughty philosopher vigorously adhered to the dogmas which
he had propounded in his learned treatise on political economy,
in which he had proved by A plus B, minus X, that the Author
of Nature had committed a considerable mistake in his calcular
tioils respecting the comparative ratios of the increase of the
human race, and their means of subsistence ; and in which
treatise he had given the public clearly to understand, that he
(Dr. Sawdust) would have managed things better at the creation
of the globe had he been allowed the opportunity.

One of the axioms in the maintenance of which the Doctor
was most inflexible, was his politico-economic dogma, which
he also proved by A 4- B — X, that the exclusive right to the
earth and the fruits thereof belonged entirely to those who
had already got possession of them, or who held dominion over
them; and that those bom afterwards, (whom the sour Doctor
fiercely proscribed as intruders who had no business on the
earth at all,) — that is to say, not more than were necessary to
serve as labourers or slaves to the fortunate few who were in

o 2

188 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

possession of capital, ought properly not to have been created.
This position he also demonstrated by A plus B, minus X,
proving algebraically that he, Dr. Sawdust, was altogether right,
and that the Author of nature was altogether wrong.

His hatred of the existing poor was exceeded only by his
indignation at their continued increase against all the rules of
(his) political economy ; for, as he argued, with a precision and
a selfishness which it was impossible to deny, — the greater
number of the consumers, the less there must be for the present
occupants, including especially himself; and this latter consi-
deration ever affected him in a manner the most sensible.
Nothing therefore more disturbed the equanimity of his philo-
sophy than the fact of the rapid increase of the human race, and
especially of those comprehended under the head of ^^ the indus-
trious classes," — a term which has become in these days synoni-
mous with " the poor."

His abhorrence of the marriages of " the poor" was so intense,
that in his vehement spite he went so far as to maintain that the
Legislature ought to take up the matter in a summary way ; and
the brute even hinted that there were ways of keeping down the
redundant population similar to those in practice for regulating
the numbers of the animal kingdom, which might be put in force
in respect to *' the poor" with ease and advantage to those who
were troubled with their clamorous and impertinent demands
for employment and subsistence.

There were some malicious persons — ^for all great men have
enemies — who were wicked enough to assert, that the propounder
of these abominable doctrines was himself so ugly and dis-
gusting that it was impossible for the creature to discover any
one among the female sex sufficiently callous in sensibility to
induce her to marry him, philosopher and algebraist as he was ;
others declared that the animal was utterly destitute of all quali-
ties but the love of self; and that the whole amount of his
human sympathy or love for mankind might be best expressed by
one of the scientific fictions of the language in which he most
delighted — ^namely, by a negative quantity — or as something less
than nothing.

It was, perhaps, because this stony-hearted individual was
perpetually haunted with the fear of the inhabitants of the earth
increasing faster than their means of subsistence, that he took
especial care on such occasions as. the present to guard against

OB, THE RICH AND TUB POOR. 189

the possible contingency of a fast on the morrow, by laying in as
large a store of provender as he could possibly stow away ; not
condescending to reflect, that by such an unphilosophic and
greedy course of proceeding he threatened to accelerate the
general famine which he deprecated. Neither was he more
sparing with the liquids than the viands ; so that at the conclusion
of the repast, if it was possible that any amount of liquor could
affect a head which, like his heart, was as hard as the nether-
millstone, it might be insinuated that the great champion of the
doctrine of the ** starvation and celibacy of the poor " was in a
state of vinous or rather of acetic fermentation, or in other words
was pretty considerably drunk. In this condition of excitement
he looked round for an antagonist — ^for he dearly loved the con-
troversial discussion that gave him the opportunity of abusing
an opponent : and the word " population" pronounced by Lord
Manley, with whose person the Doctor was unacquainted, strik-
ing his ear, it acted like a key-note to set him off; he hastily
swallowed an enormous glass of sherry, and rushed to the en-
counter; — Lady Sarum ^and Lord Grandborough remaining
passive spectators of the conflict.

" It is my opinion," harangued the Doctor, raising his voice,
and speaking dictatorially, " that the only mode of relieving the
distress of the country — ^I mean, of course, the distress of the
richer classes, for the poor deserve their distresses, as they are
all brought on by themselves — I say, that the only mode is to
repress the increase of the population. It is the poor-rates that
eat up all our estates ; nothing impoverishes a country more than
a redundant population. A redundant population, sir ; that is the
mischief: there are too many people, sir, and their numbers must
be kept down. The people are too well-fed, sir, particularly in
the workhouses. It is above all things important to enforce
among the labouring classes habits of self-restraint and frugality ;
not to want always to be marrying and eating, as they do. Sir,
the poor have no right to marry nor to eat. What they get is
by favour, not by right A poor man, sir, has no business at all
on the earth, and he ought to know it But by degrees we shall
be able to accustom them to coarser sorts of food, so that their
maintenance may be less expensive to the possessors of property."
Here the doctor filled for himself another glass of wine.

" I always thought," Lord Manley ventured to remark, " that the
strength of a state mainly consisted in the fulness of its popular

190 FANNY, THE LITTLE BOLLINEB:

tion. Besides," he added, jocularly, '^ without a large population,
where are you to get your soldiers and sailors, your labourers,
and servants P and more than that, who are you to get to pay the
taxes, if you have not a large population to contribute to
them r

^' Sir," said the professor, ^^ I am astonished that any one should
be found to maintain the delusion that it is the poor who pay the
taxes ; it is the rich, sir, who pay the taxes : the labouring classes
being in a condition of necessary poverty, possess nothing ; and
from those who have nothing, nothing can be obtained."

" But, if I might venture to observe," replied the other, " is
not the labour of the industrious classes the source of all wealth?
without their laboiu*, would not the accumulated wealth even of
the possessors of capital be useless P"

" There, sir," rejoined the professor, " you are vnrong ; it is the
labour of the poor that is worth nothing ; it is the money of the
capitalists that sets their labour in motion: it follows clearly,
therefore, that they are beholden to the possessors of capital fbr
all that they receive. But the evil, sir, the great evil is the
licence which is permitted to the poor to increase their numbers
in pursuance of their ovm inclinations, instead of the amount of
the population being regulated by the State, according to the
wants of society, and in due proportion to the demands of capi-
talists for labour. The numbers of the human machine, sir, in
which light only a labouring man can scientifically be considered,
ought to be regulated like all other machinery. But the mis-
fortune is, sir, that in man the machine produces the machine ;
and the human race increases in a geometrical ratio with a
rapidity which in a short time will entirely occupy the whole
surface of the earth : a result, sir, to be provided against with
the utmost precaution by the legislature."

*^ But surely," replied his antagonist, with some surprise in his
manner, and with serious'eamestnessin his tone, *^ that is a result
which might safely be left to the vdsdom of the great and good
Being who created the earth, and man to inhabit it. Besides,
it does not seem necessary to endeavour by legislative enactments
to restrict the increase of mankind, so long as the greater portion
of the earth remains uninhabited?"

" Sir, it is not the increase of the population that is to be
dreaded, viewing it as a question of mere increase of numbers
*— though that is bad enough — ^but it is the disproportionate

OB9 THE RICH AND THE POOR. 191

power of the increase of the population compared with the
power of the increase of food^ that is to be guarded against
You will observe that mankind increases in a geometrical ratio*''

" I do not pretend to be very learned in these matters," inter-
rupted Lord JVIanley ; " will you do me the favour to explain
what you mean by the population increasing in a geometrical
ratio ?"

** I am not accustomed," said the professor, angrily, '^ to supply
understanding as well as information ; but for your enlighten-
ment I will explain that it means, that population increases in
the proportion of one, two, four, eight, sixteen, and so on ; while
food increases only in the proportion of one, two, three, four : so
that it is plain to the commonest understanding that population
increases faster than subsistence.''

Does experience prove that fact?" asked Lord Manley*
Algebra proves it," said the professor : " by subjecting the
question to the rigid examination which that sublime science
affords, the unavoidable deduction is worked out which I have
laid down."

** I have no idea of attempting to depreciate the value of the
sublime science of calculation, when applied to insensible figures,"
said Lord Manley ; " but it seems to me that it is by no means
in&Uible when it attempts to solve moral equations, and to deal
with human passions and feelings as with inanimate points and
surfaces. What I want to know is, if the experience of history
proves that mankind, under the most favourable circumstances,
have increased according to the scientific ratio which your
algebraic deductions work out ; because, if they have not so in-
creased, I should be inclined to think that there are some ques-
tions in the government of the human race which all man's
science at present is inadequate to solve.

*' But the food, sir," said the professor; " what do you say
with respect to the food ? How is that to be raised so as to keep
pace with the alarming increase of the population?"

" Truly," replied his antagonist, " I don't see why you should
be in fear for the subsistence of the human race, so long as you
have vacant ground to occupy and cultivate. On this point — of
the food of the human race — I may perhaps hold peculiar opinions.
It seems to me that the wise and benevolent Creator of this
globe has taken particular pains to provide against a scarcity of
food among its inhabitants. The seas that cover the earth

192 . FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

abound with food. The water Is in the proportion of three-
fifths to two-fifths of the surface of the earth ; and in every sea,
and indeed in every river and lake, food for man is abundantly
provided. The depths of the sea seem . purposely contrived as
immense reservoirs for this purpose. Nay, more ; it is remark-
able that the prolific nature of fish is such, that unless the
numbers were kept down by their own voracity, their solid bulk
would soon fill up the very seas from the rapidity of their increase.
And besides the creation of this inexhaustible supply of food for
man, it seems as if by some ordination of nature they were
prompted periodically to visit the shores of the land, on purpose
to be more easily procured by man for his sustenance. But,
after all, to talk of the danger of the failure of subsistence for the
population of the earth before a hundredth part of even the most
salubrious portions of it is occupied, seems to me, with great
deference to your superior learning, to be an idle fear, to say the
least of it ; to my mind, it is blasphemous folly."

" Sir," exclaimed the learned professor, with an expression of
contemptuous disdain, " I pity your ignorance ; yes, sir, I pity
it : I lament that a fellow-creature should be wrapped in such
Egyptian darkness. And pray, sir, I ask, what do you say, sir,
to the fact, — the actual fact, sir, — that at the present moment
there are more people in this small island, sir, than can find
employment; who are starving, sir, from want of employment?
What do you say, sir, to the fact I — the fact I — there is the fact
before your eyes, sir ! Does not that fact prove that the present
population of the country is too large ? — and that it ought to be
stopped ? Answer me that."

The professor looked round triumphantly, and tried to catch
the eye of Lord Grandborough, who, however, continued silent,
much to his surprise ; as in former times he had ever found in
him a ready ally. Lady Sarum did not interrupt the discussion,
and the rest of the company seemed to be content to act the
part of listeners on the occasion. The contest, therefore, between
the man of feeling and the man of science was continued.

" Answer me that," repeated the professor, whose head was
waxing warm. " What will you do with our surplus population
which cannot obtain subsistence by its labour ?"

" Presuming that there is a surplus," replied Lord Manley,
^^ which I by no means admit; it seems to me, you must do with

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 193

It as Nature points out in her numerous examples, as if to set a
iesson to man for such occurrences."

** And pray how is that?" asked the professor, with a sneer.
** When the inhabitants of a country increase to such an
extent as to press on one another inconveniently, why not do as
bees do ? Swarm to another hive. There is land enough on the
earth destitute of inhabitants ; fertile, and in healthy climates ;
easily accessible ; where a hundred times the present population
of Great Britain might maintain themselves with the greatest
facility. And do not let it be said that the sea acts as a barrier
to the transit of a civilized population abounding in ships and
scientific appliances ; it may be considered rather as affording a
facility for the transport of the heavy burdens necessary in colo-
nization."

" And pray, sir," inquired the philosopher, getting more and

more angry, and almost at the end of his patience, " how is your

notable scheme to be carried into effect ? How are your new

swarms, as you call them, to be conveyed to the lands across the

sea that you speak of? Before a man propounds a scheme, sir,

he ought to be prepared to show the means by which it is to be

carried into effect. It is very easy to talk of emigration and

colonization, but where is the money to come from ? How is

the capital to be raised ? And in the meantime, sir, wliile your

grand scheme is being prepared, how is the increasing population

to be fed, sir, if you allow it to continue to increase without

check or restriction ? Yes, sir, I ask how is it to be fed ? The

workhouses, which are full of the poor in every direction,-find it

difficult to devise means for lessening the quantity of food which

they are forced to allow the paupers ; although I am happy to

say they have almost arrived at the minimum quantity on which

the human being can exist ; and it is a gratifying sign, which

evidences the favourable manner in which the New Poor-Law

works, that the people prefer starving outside, or going to gaol,

rather than to apply to be received in the Union workhouses.

But it is the food, — that is the great difficulty ; even as it is, the

expense to the possessors of capital is enormous. If any man

could point out how this expense might be further reduced, and

the quantity and quality of food of the paupers lessened, he

would be considered, sir, the greatest benefactor of mankind by

the wealthy classes, that ever appeared on the earth."

1 94 FANN Y^ THE LITTLE BilLLINER :

"I am informed," said Lord Manley, "that the desirable
discovery has actually been made.

" Indeed I" said the professor, not quite satisfied with the tone
in which it was made, nor with the laughing expression of the
handsome countenance of the speaker ; — " Indeed I And pray
what may this discovery be ?"

"You are no doubt aware," said Lord Manley, "that the
human body contains a demonstrable portion of iron, which the
ingenuity of modern chemists has detected.

** Well," said the professor, considerably puzzled ; " what has
that to do with the discovery ?"

" It is necessary to premise that fact," said the young Lord,
" in order that you may appreciate the full value of the curious
invention which I have the honour to bring to your notice, and
which will form a remedy so effectual for the evil which you so
eloquently deplore — I mean the evil of the impertinent obstinacy
of file poor in insisting on having something to eat — that I
cannot doubt it will meet with your cordial approbation."

"Sir," said the professor, more and more puzzled, and
strongly suspecting that he was being politely quizzed; and
internally vowing vengeance against the perpetrator of the im-
pertinence — " I don't understand your meaning."

" Iron," continued his tormentor, " constituting, as it is said, a
portion of the human frame, it is to be presumed that it performs
an important function in the regulation of the animal economy
(thought Lord Manley, as he adopted the phraseology of the
learned Doctor, ^ suo sibi gladio hunc jugulo) ; for instance, we
say ^ an iron-framed man.' "

"WeU, Sirl"

** Now the invention," continued Lord Manley, " is this ;— -
it is to provide for the poor loaves made of cast iron : you cannot
deny that such fare would be substantial, and at the same time
economical, and not likely to be wastefully consumed ; in short,
a sort of perpetual food which they might bite at without fear of
coming to the end of it Ah 1 — I see by your face that you are
ready to make the objection, that these loaves would not digest
You are quite right; that was a difficulty: but the ingenious
inventor, who is one of the officers of an union workhouse, has
got over it with great cleverness. He accoiqpanies his loaves
with a sufficient quantity of sulphuric acid. I see your readiness
catches the idea at once; the acid dissolves the iron, and

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 195

makes the mixture at the same time palatable and digestive. He

proposes that each pauper shall have a quartern loaf of this

solid stuff on his entrance into the union, with a gill of the acid ;

small rolls of the same material will be provided for the children.

So that with cast iron loaves for bread, and oil of vitriol for

drink, the poor of your workhouses may be maintained at a

cost so trifling that there can no longer be any fear of the parish

rates consuming all the property of the country."

The professor made no reply to this sally ; but rising from his
seat in a violent passion, left the room — much to the satisfaction
of the company.

** Upon my word," said Lady Sarum, " you were too hard on
"tlie Doctor. He will never forgive you for this impertinence."

** It was the only way to put an end to the controversy," re-
plied Lord Manley, " and you ought to be much obliged to me
for my ingenuity ; in return I will claim from your ladyship
the interesting information which you did me the honour to
speak of."

" Well, I have been thinking of it ; but on second thoughts
I don't think it right to tell my secrets relating to young ladies —
though I have known you ever since you were as high as that
music-stool, in a blue sash and red shoes — particularly to so
susceptible a yoimg gentleman as yourself, who can fall in love
with a picture. Now don't blush ; I can't bear to see men blush.
And pray how long have you taken to the office of carrying
young girls down stairs ? Ah ! you see I know all about it.
That's more dangerous than falling in love with a picture I But
bless me, you seem to take it very much to heart I I do believe
you are very — ^what shall I say ? — ^romantic ? Yes — ^romantic ;
you are a romantic young gentleman ; and by-the-by, if you
are fond of romance, there is a poor girl in the house now who
is the very heroine of a romance."

« Indeed !"

'^ Indeed ! Yes, indeed. But really you must not do these
things. When the poor girl related to me how you carried her
down stairs in your arms, her confusion was quite pitiable I She
blushed at your very name ! I am afraid you have turned the
poor child's head I"

*^ That girl I Is she in this house ; and do you say that she
is the heroine of a romance? Lady Sarum, there is some
mystery here which it seems &te has determined that I shall be

Y

^ . 8\ie ^«>s '\acV. to-^^ -hail \eftve ^ ^^^, ^

^,,%. *"• "" .^. „..t *« jf s «* '""'

^«1 ^

on, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 197

** Veiy well ; we can talk together presently. What is it ?"
lie asked of the page who entered the room, the bearer of some
message as it seemed to his master.

** My Lord," said the page ; Dennis, the porter "

** Well — ^what does he want ?"

'^ He says, my Lord, that he wants particularly to speak to
your lordship; he has something to communicate, he says,

about a poor person who "

** Well — I will see him before I go : why, everybody seems to

Iiave something to say to me ; it is always the case when a man

is undertaking a journey ; always something to stop him ; the

"best way is to set off at once, without saying a word to any one.

I will follow you immediately," he said to Lady Sarum. " I will

first hear what Mariley has got to say to mc, and then I will join

you in your boudoir. Now, Manley," he said, when her ladyship

lad retired, " what can I have the pleasure to do for you ?"

"I have been thinking," said Lord Manley, after a pause,
^^that there will be nothing particular in the house to attend to
this session."

" I thought you had given notice of a motion relative to the
employment of children in factories : but, my dear friend, I
have not time to talk politics ; indeed, my mind has been a good
deal disturbed of late by — by various matters."
" Lord Grandborough's health seems very infirm."
'^ It is ; but what is it that you wished to talk to me about ?^'
'^ Why, to tell the truth, my mind has been a good deal dis-
turbed recently."

"Your mind disturbed! about what? matters political, or
matters feminine ? Ah 1 my young friend, I wish I had no more
to disturb my mind than you have."
" Well, the real fiact is, that it is about matters feminine."
"I thought so; whenever any disturbance tabes place in
this world, depend upon it a woman has something to do with
it But what scrape have you been getting into ? Nothing very
embarrassing I hope."

<« No — no — it is not that ; you quite misunderstand me. But
1 have been thinking a good deal lately on the subject of un-
equal marriages. Li my opinion, a man of a certain rank ought
to be exceedingly careful how he forms an alliance with a family
of whose connexion he would afterwards feel ashamed, or whose
claims he would find embarrassing."

198 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

^^My dear Manley," said Lord Sanim, with a serioui air,
alarmed at the turn the conversation was taking, which accorded
so painfiilly with the subject ever uppermost in his thoughts,
"you must excuse me if I decline entering into this subject at
present. My own opinion is, that every man is the best judge
of what is likely to be most conducive to his own happiness in
a point so delicate and important ;] but I agree with you, that
nothing — generally speaking — ^is more a£Uctive to both parties
than an unequal marriage. But surely this was not the matter
that you wished to speak to me about There is something
on your mind ; out with it: if there is any advice that a sincere
friend can give you — or anything that he can do for you — ^you
know you can depend on me."

" The fact is," said Lord Manley, with some hesitation, — his
mind alternately swayed by the new and indefinable hope which
the communication of Lady Sarum had given rise to, and by
the fear of an involvement of the heart, which might prove fatal
to its object and to himself, and the temptation of which it was
his earnest desire from principle to avoid ; " the fact is, that I have
been thinking of going abroad for a short time ; but ^

" Come with me, then ; I will put off my journey with plea-
sure for a day or two, for the sake of having you widi me."

" When I say that I have resolved, I ought to say that I did
resolve ; but perhaps something may detain me for a short
time. It is a very extraordinary case ; but on second thoughts,
I don't think it likely that anything can occur to prevent my
going ; therefore I may say I am resolved to go ; quite made up
my mind ; I mean, unless circumstances should arise — ^but that
is impossible — ^so that I accept your offer with pleasure."

" How soon could you be ready to set off?

" Oh I immediately, — that is, not immediately, because perhaps
it would be li^st for me to stay for\i short time 2 but still, when I
think of it, that would be weakness ; so as it is my duty to go at
once, you may consider that I have resolved — ^yes — ^finally re-
solved — to take a few days to make up my mind what to do."

" Forgive me, my dear young friend," said Lord Sarum, " but
it seems that you have not yet come to a decision."

" Yes — ^yes — I have. I will join you in Italy ; so it is agreed,
that is a matter settled. What is your route ?"

" I shall go first to Florence."

" Florence ! How very singular I It is precisely the place I

OB5 THE RICH AKD THE POOR. 199

was thinking of going to myself, Well, you may expect me
there. I must settle one or two things before I leave town. At
Florence, then ; there, perhaps, I may have the courage to tell
you my secret''

** What ! have you a secret, too ?" said Lord Sarum.

** My lady, my lord, is waiting for you," interrupted the lady's-
maid, coming in.

" Then you will permit me now to join Lady Sarum, who is
waiting for me in her boudoir." With these words Lord Sarum
took leave of his young friend, and ascended the stairs.
In my lady's dressing-room, if you please, my lord."
Why not in the boudoir ?" asked Lord Sarum of his wife
as he entered; " we should be more quiet there ; your eternal maid
will be frisking in and out of this place, as she always does —
always wanting some fiddle-faddle,"

" There is a young person in the boudoir," said his wife, " who
is doing a little work for me. Poor child 1 she has been sadly
unfortunate."

** Is it a young milliner girl ?" asked Lord Sarum. " I remem-
ber ; I have seen her here before. I caught her parading before
the glass one day when I came in accidentally ; the poor girl was
sadly confused when she found that she was observed. A very
pretty girl, too, if a man may be allowed to say so in the presence
of his wife."

** I should rather call her handsome than pretty," said his wife;
"but I wanted, among other things, to ask you whether you ap-
proved of my joining this projected Ladies' Association for the
protection of young milliner girls, and others of that class."

" By all means. No employment could be more fitting, and
more conducive to benefit the class to which its attention would
be directed. I approve of the object most heartily, and I should
be glad to know that you have contributed your active exertions
to promote the praiseworthy objects of an association so truly
admirable."

*^ It is bringing oneself before the public in rather a more pro-
minent manner than I like," suggested Lady Sarum ; " I would
rather do my good actions in private."

" It is giving the sanction of your name, and the influence of
your rank," replied her husband, " in precisely the manner and
for the object which justifies a departure from the usual privacy

200 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

of feminine interference with public matters* But there is a
recognised evil in society, which it is the peculiar province of
women to correct ; tod I wish every woman with rank or influ-
ence to exert would think so, and then the mischief which
everyone sees and deplores, would, if not entirely obviated, at
least be materially lessened ; there is no class in society that
suffers more privations, and that is more exposed to temptation,
than the class of young milliner girls, in London especially."

" There is a great deal of suffering among them," said his
wife ; " much more, I fear, than we have any idea of: but this
young girl's fate is very sad indeed. I should like you to see
her, and to hear her tell her story."

" I have not much time to spare," said Lord Sarum, " before I
go ; but if it will give you any satisfaction, I will see her."

" I will tell her to come in, then," said Lady Sarum. As she
laid her hand on the handle of the door, she turned round to
Lord Sarum, and said playfully, " I am sure you will be struck
with her. Do you know there is something in her countenance
that haunts me with the idea of a likeness to some one I have
seen before."

" Let her come in," said Lord Sarum, smiling with a mourn-
ful expression, " and I will try if I can discover the likeness that
you speak of, and then your mind will be at rest"

Lady Sarum immediately opened the door to summon Fanny
to his presence. At this moment the eternal lady's-maid ap-
peared again, with a communication from his lordship's own man
that " there was a person below" who said his name was " Lode,"
or some such name, and who was very pressing to see his lord-
ship. The person was a sort of labouring man, — an old man, —
and he talked of having gone down some pit with his lordship
many years ago.

" Wait,'* said Lord Sarum to his wife, " till I have seen this
man ; I think I recollect something of him ; and then I will
return, and see the protegee you have taken such a fancy to. I
have no doubt that she will amply return the good intentions
which you seem to entertain towards her." And so saying, he
descended to the dining-room ; his mind rapidly revolving old
recollections, and painfully distracted with anxious thoughts.

As he was about to enter the room, he was intercepted by
Dennis, who with a very grave face craved permission to
speak with his master on an affair of importance.

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 201

CHAPTER XXXIL

DENKIS'S BLUNDERS.— MOST HASTE WORSE SPEED.

Dennis^ the hall-porter, had been cogitating profoundly on the
recollections to which the sight of the little milliner had given
rise, and he strove diligently to clear up the confusion of thought
which perplexed him, from the double resemblance to the picture
of the Virgin, in St. Mary's Church, of the forlorn outcast who
had sought charity at the door many years ago, and of the young
girl to whom he had lately given admittance. The convulsion
which he had experienced at the time from the reprimand of his
master, and the wild excitement of his young lord, had been
fixed too strongly on his mind ever to be forgotten ; and the
sound of the name — an unusual one in England — and the re-
markable expression of the eyes, recalled the circumstances so
forcibly to his memory, that between the fact of the likeness
and the impossibility of the identity from the extreme youth of
the counterpart of the woman with the begging letter, his in-
tellects were in a state of the most pitiable bewilderment. In
this state he was summoned by Lord Sarum, to explain the
purport of his communication.

In his struggle to give expression to his thoughts, he com-
menced with the idea uppermost in his mind : —

"The picture of the Virgin."

« The what !"

"The picture of the Virgin, in St. Mary's Church."

" What of that ?" said Lord Sarum, a little impatiently.

" It's the eyes that are so like : your lordship has observed
her eyes ?"

"Whose eyes?"

** The Virgin's ; — that is, the woman's — I mean the poor
woman who brought the begging letter years ago."

" Man !" cried out Lord Sarum, in a paroxysm of excitement,
** what do you know of that woman ?"

" Nothing — ^my lord."

p

202 FAKNT, THE LITTLS MILLINER:

" Have you ever seen her since ?^

" No, my lord."

« Or heard of her ?"

" No, my lord."

" What have you to say of her, then ?'*

** It's the likeness, my lord ; it's wonderful ! it is, indeed ; it
is like a dream 1 the picture of the Virgin.'*

'* Go — go," said Lord Sarum ; ** leave me ; I have not time
to attend to your dreams. Send to me the man who is waiting
to see me."

" Yes, 4ny lord : but I assure your lordship the likeness ^

'^^ Go — go; send the man to me."

« Yes, my lord."

'^Welir said Lord Sarum to the miner, stringing up his
nerves to face one who had been a witness of the events of that
terrible night, the remembrance of which had been burned into
his brain as if with a red-hot iron ; " what have you to say to me ?"

**It was one of the helpera that told me to come to your lord-
ship," said the miner, noways abashed either by the splendour
of the apartment in which he found himself or by the manner
of Lord Sarum, which exhibited a sternness that would have
awed ordinary minds ; <' he said he was sure your lordship would
be glad to see me."

" And who was it that told you so ?"

« Bob told me."

"Bobl"

" It's Bob ; the lad that always had his mouth open — that was
at the White Bull, at Sandy Flats, the time when your lordship
went down the pit after the poor woman that fell in with the
child, poor little thing ! You know the child was saved — but
the woman was lost. I did hear tell that the woman was got up
afterwards ; but I was in Scotland many years, and didn't know
the rights of it well. Hope the poor little child is well, my lord ?
She must be a young woman now ; terrible thing to lose her
mother that way, wasn't it, my lord ?"

" Did you ever hear of that child again ?" asked Lord Sarum,
in an agitated voice.

" Me hear of her I No, my lord ; I heard say your lordship
took care of her, and put her with Ned Lacey's mother ; and
Ned left the country, they say, because the justices were down
on him for that little affair in the bam: but he wasn^ there;

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 203

and Bob said that your lordship would be glad to see me. It's that
' chap that always had his mouth open — ^your lordship remembers
him now ; and it was he that found the cross in the snow, and
gave it to old Matthew the woodman ; — ^your lordship remembers
Matthew the woodman ?"

** And what do you want with me ?" said Lord Sarum^ — wishing
to stop the garrulity of the old man, and desirous of sparing
himself the infliction of remembrances so bitter. " What do you
want with me ?"

'* What do I want ?" repeated the old man. " Well — I want
nothing ; only Bob said as I had gone down with you in the pit,
and saved your life — not that I reckon that anything, I'd have
done the same for any one else — and my Lord Manley told me
to come up to him ; and it was there I met Bob ; — ^but I've seen
another of them that was about the pit that night."

« Hah ! Who was that ?"

*' Does your lordship remember a sort of crazy woman that
was called Rebecca ? — Your lordship has reason to remember
her, I'm sure, for she was terrible mad that night ; she you gave
the child to when it was got out of the pit ?"

" Well !— I remember her.— What of her?"

^ Only I saw her as I passed through London streets to-day,
as crazy as ever ; she knew me again in a minute — mad people
always remember folks."

** And what had she to say ?"

** Oh ! nothing ; she only asked me where I was going, and I
told her to Lord Manley's ; and she said, * Who is he ? one of
the cruel aristocrats T That was always her way ; and she asked
me if I knew what had become of Ned Lacey and the child."

^^Then she knew nothing of the child ?"

^ So it seems, my lord."

'* And Lord Manley, you say, is going to do something for
you ?"

" Ah ! he's a right good one is that young lord ; you've only
to look in his face to see that he has got a heart, and a kind look
for a poor man. He took me away from the police-office, where
they were going to put me into prison for sleeping in the streets
at night ! Odd enough that, thought I, to send a man to prison
because he's no home to go to!"

Lord Siarum inquired into the meaning of this, and the miner
related to him the proceedings before the magistrate. A servant

p2

204 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

now appeared, to say that his lordship's travelling-carriage was at
the door. Immediately seeking Lord Manley, Lord Sarum re-
lated to him his reasons for wishing to provide for the old man,
whom he had long lost sight of, and whose case of old age and
destitution had interested his young friend at the police-office.
Lord Manley insisted on his right to perform that duty, as he
had already taken it on himself; and Lord Sarum waving his
prior claim to do the act of charity, it was agreed that Lord
Manley, before he left London to join his friend in Italy, should
endeavour to put the old man in the way of earning something
for his living, and at all events that he should not be thrown
destitute again on the world. This being settled, he was about
to rejoin his wife in her dressing-room ; but Lady Sarum
wondering at his long absence came down to seek him, and his
son Augustus with Lord Grandborough having joined them in
the dining-room. Lord Sarum, wearied with the interruptions
which had delayed his departure, and anxious to leave a spot
where all sorts of accidents seemed to combine in recalling
painful recollections ; and full of anxious desire also to seek in
Italy for the solution of the mystery which had embittered and
still embittered his life, took leave of his family.

** You will not see my little protegee, then ?" were nearly the
last words which Lady Sarum addressed to him.

'* It is not necessary, my love ; she will be safe in your hands :
I have no doubt that your kindness to the poor girl will meet
with its due reward."

Prophetic words I How little did the father of that girl then
know their meaning!

Stepping into his carriage, and shaking Lord Manley warmly
by the hand for the last time, out of the window, the equipage
was driven from the door; bearing away the father from the
child, whom it was a principal object with him to discover ; —
the long-lost child who was even then sitting under her father's
roof, and whom he had committed to the care of her to whom
her presence was fated to bring such mortal agony. Strange
omission ! — ^and still stranger destiny I Is it that Fortune takes
delight in sporting with the designs of men ? — or is it but the
action of that Power ruling supreme, and conducting to fore-
destined ends by means aud through events which to short-
sighted mortals seem the accidents of life, but which in truth
are the links of a chain of consequential results to accomplish the
great and universal plan of Retributive Justice*

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOB. 205

CHAPTER XXXm,

THE VOID LEFT BY ABSENCE. — AUGUSTUS HEARS A BOMAMTIC STOBY.

The family in the dining-room remained for some time in
silence after the departure of Lord Sarum, each revolving his
own thoughts, and giving way to the reflections which the grief
or the hopes or fears of each gave rise to. Lady Sarum felt an
unaccountable depression at the departure of her husband, and
she blamed herself for not having insisted on accompanying him ;
and when she reflected on the disinclination which he could not
disguise, to have any companion in his journey, she was filled
with that vague feeling of disquietude which ever attends mys-
tery of conduct on the part of those we love. Lord Manley
could think of nothing but the young girl who bore so extraordi-
nary a resemblance to the mysterious picture ; and the new and
undefined hopes to which Lady Sarum's information had given
rise agitated him in a manner which he felt was too surely
the indication of a fervent passion which he feared to cherish,
and which was cherished the more deeply firom his fears. The
young Augustus, — albeit that his Etonian habits were by no
means favourable to stillness and confinement, — was repressed in
his vivacity by the serious countenances of those around him :
but as the ennui of such still-life was by no means agreeable to
his habits of activity, he meditated an escape to the stable which
was situate at the back of the house, at the end of a garden of
no great extent; where he might have the satisfaction of
examining the family stud in town. He was desirous also of
exchanging communications with that most important personage
in the eyes of early youth, the head-coachman, with whom he
was anxious to discuss the merits and qualifications of various
horses — a theme at all times delightful to the scions of noble
houses. With this intent he rose quietly from his seat,
and was about to cross the room ; but in passing his grandfather
the old nobleman, roused from his reverie by the movement of
his grandson, grasped him by the arm, and regarded him with
o fixed and mournful an expression that it attracted the attention

206 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEB :

of his daughter-in-law. It must be mentioned that Lord Grand-
borough was possessed with an extravagant fondness for his
grandson, whom he indulged and petted on all occasions, li
has been said maliciously by a reckless exposer of the human
heart, that the aged are led to regard their grandchildren with
increased affection from the feeling that they are the natural
allies of their own enemies — their children ; but no such thought
entered into the feeling which Lord Grandborough had for his
grandson. It was rather the pride of ancestry which induced the
old lord to entertain so extravagant a love for the boy who was
to perpetuate the family name and the family honours through
succeeding generations. For many years he had flattered him-
self with the hope that there would be no rival claimant to
disturb the succession of the son to his titles and estates;
but the conversation at the dinner-table, relative to the picture
purchased by Lord Manley, followed up by the apparition at his
own door of one who, he saw in an instant, bore a striking
resemblance to the beautiful Italian whose features the fearfrd
circumstances of her fate had stamped indelibly on his memory,
awakened all his former fears ; and it was with the anguish of
such bitter and blasting thoughts, that he gazed on the counte-
nance of his grandson whom he loved so dearly.
Augustus," he said, *^ how old are you now?"
Fourteen," replied Augustus; wondering at the nature of
the question, and the seriousness with which it was asked.

'* Fourteen," repeated the old lord, pondering — and speaking
to himself; " yes — fourteen — and— one is fifteen ; yes fifteen
years and a half; — fifteen years and a half ago."

** What is fifteen years and a half ago ?" asked his daughter-
in-law, surprised at the manner of Lord Grandborough. Lord
Manley, too, looked inquiringly.

"Did I say anything?" Did I say anything about what
happened fifteen years and a half ago ? Did I say anything? "
he repeated, anxiously and testily.

Lady Sarum had long since observed that her father-in-law
had occasional fits of abstraction, in which he gave expression to
loose and unconnected thoughts, as it appeared to her, and which
she regarded rather as the indications of a waning intellect than
as revelations uttered unconsciously by her father-in-law at
times when overwhelming thoughts oppressed him. Her heart
attuned to tenderness by her grief at the departure of her

OB» TBS BIOH AND THB FOOB. 207

hoflband^ she arofle^ sat down by the old lord ; kiflsed his fore-
head, and asked him what it was that had disturbed him ?

The expression of the thought that was uppermost in Lord
Grandborough's mind rose to his lips, and he asked in a tone of
strange anxiety:--

" What has become of her ?"

'< Become of whom ? my dear lord," said Lady Sarum; '* who
are you thinking of?"

^^That woman — that girl — ^who was at the door when I
came in."

** Who do you mean? Can you mean my little protegee up-
stairs ?-^ Why should she disturb you?" Lady Sarum blushed
as she said this, conscious of the presence of Lord Manley ; — ^for,
not unaware of the possible failings of old noblemen, it seemed
to her that her respected father-in-law might have been smitten
with the charms of the little milliner, and it was by no means
consonant with her ladyship's opinions of decorum that he should
make his daughter-in-law the confidante of such predilections.
But any such surmises on her part were quickly dispelled by the
exclamation of Lord Grandborough :

** That woman has been my curse and my misery for sixteen
long years I When will this terrible suspense end ?"

*^ Dear grandpapa," said Lady Sarum, calling him affection-
ately by the name with which she fi*equently addressed him, "my
little girl cannot have anything to do with the woman that you
speak of— fflxteen years ago I Why she cannot be much more
than sixteen herself ; you are in one of your waking dreams, dear
grandpapa. But I assure you, my little milliner is one of the
most beautiful atid interesting girls you ever saw."

Lord Manley here became an attentive listener; and the
mention of a pretty girl, and a milliner too, excited the curiosity
of the Eton boy, who from his classical reading had been early
forced to the contemplation of such matters, and he lingered for
a moment at the threshold of the door undetermined whether
to turn his attention to an extempore study of little milliners,
or go to the horses ; but the idea of a remarkably beautiful bay
horse with a long tail presenting itself to his imagination, he
decided on the stable, and presently found himself in earnest
discussion with one of the grooms on the propriety of his
appearing on a '* lady's horse " which he doubted might be con-
sidered unmanly^ though^ as the groom agreed with him, " her

208 FANNY, THE LITTLE IHLLINBR:

ladyship's horse " was master of any weight, and (excepting the
tail) was as sightly a horse as any in the stables. The examina-
tion of equine tails and hoofs was ifttemipted by a lively discus-
sion which was going on between an old man who had entered
the stable and one of the under grooms, in whom the stranger it
seemed had found an old acquaintance,

" I say," said the old man, *^ that the woman must have been
dead before she got to the bottom ; the choke-damp must have
killed her. Aren't I been a miner all the years of my life, and
oughtn't I to know ? Besides, didn't the choke almost kill Lord
Sarum, when I went down the pit with him ; it was a near touch
that was 1 — a few more mouthfiils of the foul air, and there would
have been no Lord Sarum for you to call master,"

" What's that ?" said Augustus ; — " what's that the old fellow
says about going down a pit with my father, and the choke-damp
nearly killing him ? What is it that you say, my good man," ad-
dressing the miner ; " what is it all about ?"

" Oh, it's an old story," replied the miner, " and it's not for
mc to brag of it, and if I did save your father's life — it was all
luck and accident ; and any one else — ^that is, if he understood
the Ways of an old shaft — would have done it the same as me."
" Well, but teU me all about it. How long ago was it ?"
*^ Why," said the miner, " come next Christmas it must be
sixteen years ago."

" That was before I was bom," said Augustus.
" Likely enough. You see there was a meeting of the labouring
people about ; and — but never mind that ; well there was some
woman going across the moor, and she fell into the pit with her
child ; and the child was got out ; — it was young Ned Lacey that
saved it — ^a brave young lad that was ; — well — ^and your father
would go down into the pit to try to save the mother, spite of
all I could say : and so I went down with him ; and lucky
enough it was, for the choke-damp took him — ^and when we were
drawn up it was thought he was dead."
" And the woman was killed ?"
" Oh yes ; the poor woman was killed, sure enough."
« And the child ? What became of the child I"
" The very question Lord Sarum asked me awhile ago in the
house : and very anxious was he to know, kind-hearted noWe-
riian as he is ; I dare say he would have provided for the child
if he had known what became of it."

OB, THE BICH AND THE FOOB. 209

^ Was the child lost, then ?"

** Nobody knows, it seems, what became of the child. Bob,
there, was by when the child was got out of the pit. Did you
ever get the gold cross again. Bob, that you found by the side
of the pit?" Bob shook his head. " Why don't you shut your
mouth, man, and speak ; sure you haven't had your mouth wide
open for sixteen year, that way ?"

'* Our governor likes him to keep his mouth open," said one
of the grooms, who was the wag of the fraternity.

** Eh !" said the miner ; " and why so ? "

^^ Because he catches all the flies, and prevents them from tor-
menting the horses." A general laugh rewarded this attempt at
stable wit; in the midst of which a servant came to seek Augus-
tus, with the information that dinner was ready; — a summons
which was gladly complied with. "Mind, old fellow," said
Augustus, "I must see you again, and have some more talk
about this story."

** Ay, ay," returned the miner; " I am going to be employed
by Lord Manley, so you will all hear enough of those times, I'll
be bound ; but there was always some mystery about that busi-
ness that none of us could understand.

" A mystery 1 " exclaimed Augustus, as he left the apartments
of his dearly-beloved horses ; " a mystery ! That's capital fun I "
thought he to himself, — " I'll have a talk with grandpapa about
it. I wonder he never told me of it before I "

CHAPTER XXXIV.

IDLENESS THE PARENT OF MISCHIEF. — BROTHER AND SISTER. — FANNY'S SONG.-^

MORE MTSTERT.

" Grandpapa !" said Augustus, after appeasing his first hunger,
— and finding his appetite becoming capricious, so as to render a
pauise desirable, which he was desirous of turning to account by
saying soniething amusing to his grandfather, — *^did you ever
hear the story of papa going down into a pit and being nearly

210 FANNYi THE LITTLS UtLUKBE:

stifled with the foul air? An old man has been telling me all
the story."

Now it is to be observed that the history of that afiair was
never the subject of conversation in the fisunily, and by a tacit
understanding instinctively understood in the household, though
the reason of the prohibition was unknown, the stoiy was never
alluded to ; so that in progress of time it had become either
foi^otten or but dimly remembered as an event which had lost
its interest The young Augustus, therefore, was totally igno-
rant of an occurrence which had taken place before he was
bom^ as well as of the loose surmises which were current at the
time in respect to the remarkable anxiety manifested by Lord
Sarum in the fiite of the mother and child, and which it was
conjectured had its origin in some reason deeper than appeared
on the surface. His grandson, therefore, was the last person in
the world from whom the Earl expected to hear the slightest
allusion to the subject : but whether it was that the repeated
shocks on his nerves had benumbed his sensibility; or that a sort
of sullen despair made him meet this new assault on his ten-
derest point from the human being he loved best and fondest
with a seeming indifierence ; the Earl received the unexpected
question of his grandson without any visible emotion. He laid
down his knife and fork deliberately and quietly; sighed
heavily; and looked at his grandson with a deceitful calmness
for his further communication. Seeing the attention which his
grandfather was disposed to pay to him, Augustus thought that
it was just the thing to talk about; so he at once dashed into the
story : —

" Don't you know it, grandpapa ? oh, you must have heard of
it ! — The old man said there was a woman and a child who fell
down a pit on the moor, not far from the castle ; — you remem-
ber that part ? And the child was saved, but the mother was
killed ; and papa interested himself very much indeed about it,
and went down into the pit to try to save the woman: and the
old man who told me the story was the very man who went
down with him, and he said that Lord Manley knew him."

" Ah 1 that must be my new friend, the miner," said Lord
Manley.

" Yes : — and he told me that if they had not got out of the
mine as quick as they did, poor papa would have been suffo-
cated But what became of the child nobody knows ;— that is

OB, THE BICH AND THE POOB. 211

very extraordinary !— don't you think so? But the old fellow
says there is a mystery about it There's something for you to
find ont| mamma I "

'^ And is that all ? " said Lord Grandborough, growing ghastly
pale, and speaking with an unnatural calmness.

" YeSy that's all ; — no it isn't : I forgot What do you think,
mamma? Robert — ^he is one of the under grooms — ^you have
had him since I went to Eton last time : well, Robert was there
at the time, too ; and the old man said that Robert found a gold
cross, which they supposed belonged to the mother of the cluld."

'^A gold cross I" exclaimed Lady Sarum, becoming exces-
sively agitated, and a crowd of vague recollections and of unde-
fined suspicions of bygone yeara rushing on her mind : ^' the
poor girl up-stairs," she said, turning to Lord Manley, " has a
gold cross of curious workmanship, which she cherishes as the
only means of discovering her parents ; — what a singular coinci-
dence I "

Lord Manley hastily whispered to Lady Sarum, in his emo-
tion:

** Lady Sarum, there is some extraordinary mystery here. I
must tell you; I feel that my happiness is somehow in your
hands : that picture of the beautiful Italian is the exact resem-
blance of the young girl who is in your house."

"Indeed!" said Lady Sarum; remembering her husband's
emotion at the description of the picture, and blushing deeply as
the feelings of the woman suggested fears to which she could not
give expression.

'*Lideedl" echoed Lord Grandborough, who had overheard
the revelation which Lord Manley, in a moment of uncontroll-
able emotion, had communicated to his early and attached fiiend.
Lady Sanun ; " then that is the girl whom I met at the door as
I came in !"

" Indeed !" said Lady Sarum and Lord Manley, both at once ;
" do you know her ?"

Lord Grandborough was silent, and seemed suddenly to be
plunged in profound meditation. Augustus, — ^who could make
nothing of the various emotions exhibited by the different parties
at table at the mention of the gold cross, but thinking that as
no one else talked he might as well go on with his story,' —
resumed the conversation : —

<^ Yes» mamma ; a gold cross I«-*but it seems that was lost too*

212 FANNT5 THE LITTLE MILLINER:

But I shall have another talk with the old fellow, and perhaps I
shall find out some more of the ' mystery,' Do you know any-
thing of the mystery, grandpapa?" But his grandfather made
no answer; he remained looking at his grandson with the same
fixed, calm, unnatural expression : but as he continued to drink
wine, — though he would eat nothing more, and did not speak, —
his daughter-in-law regarded it as only one of those fits of abstrac-
tion to which the Earl was liable ; and the dinner passed off^ as
usual. At the close of it. Lord and Lady St. Austin came in,
thinking as they said that their daughter would be lonely after
the departure of Lord Sarum ; and Augustus feeling the family
party getting dull, without ceremony retired to seek some
amusement about the house*

In his wanderings through the rooms, and up stairs and down
stairs, — after plaguing Mrs. Buckram, the consequential house-
keeper, and romping with the lady's maid, whom he considered
he had a right to pull about, as a part of the personal establish-
ment particularly belonging to himself, — he penetrated into
his mother's boudoir, in which the little milliner was busily
engaged at work. He paused for a moment within the thres-
hold, with that peculiar sheepish and irresolute air characteristi-
cally displayed by young lads on their first introduction to a new
female acquaintance. Presently, however, he advanced, sidling
along the room studying or pretending to study the pictures, but
taking an oblique look at the same time at the "milliner-gal."
Fanny, who had risen on his entrance, finding that the youth
paid no attention to her, quietly sat down again and continued
her work. This mute acquaintance, however, by no means
suited the inclination of Augustus, who wanted something to do
or somebody to talk to ; and the silence, which was broken only
by the rustling of the stitches of Fanny's needle, becoming in-
supportably irksome, he summoned up boldness to commence a
conversation with the pretty girl.

" You seem fond of stitching? "

Fanny shook her head ; but as there was nothing very formi-
dable in a boy of fourteen she did not scruple to make a reply,
which seemed expected fi:om her : —

" I am happy," she said, " to be allowed to do work for so
kind a lady as Lady Sarum."

" My mother," replied Augustus.

Fanny had a suspicion that she was speaking to a member of

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 213

the family ; but on learning that he was the son of her patroness,
she looked at him with some curiosity. The conversation lan-
guished ; Fanny did not leave off stitching for a moment ; — it was
dull work ; Augustus looked about to find something to enliven
it. There was a harp in the room; he approached it; — and
merely for the sake of making some sort of noise he set about
performing a vigorous voluntary with all his fingers on the
strings.

" You will spoil the harp," Fanny ventured to say.

^^ What's the use of it ? I do think this is the dullest house in
London. There is nobody to speak to, and nothing to do. Can
you play?"

" It is some time since I played," replied Fanny'; " but I was
very fond of it once."

" Oh ! then you can play ? Then you shall give us a tune.
What can you play ?

** I could not take the liberty to touch your mamma's harp,"
said Fanny : " besides, if I did, I could not play anything to
amuse you."

" Oh I nonsense : my mother's harp is my harp." I'll go and
ask her, if you like ? "

" Oh ! pray don't ; indeed I cannot play anything worth
hearing: besides, I have this turban of your mamma's to finish.
Now, don't take hold of my hand, Sir, — really, this is improper."

" But I say you shall give me a tune : here is the harp, and
play you shall ; and if you don't come quietly, I'll pull you there."

Whether it was weakness, or the desire to please, or a secret
longing unknown to herself to touch an instrument on which
she had been considered in better days to excel ; or thinking
that the shortest way was to indulge the desire of the son of her
promised benefactress, who perhaps she thought had a sort of
right to insist on her compliance ; or whether it was destiny
which prompted her to consent, — Fanny was persuaded to play
one air to please the boy. L'appetit vient en mangeant, as the
French say : one air brought on another; but Augustus growing
more exacting, like older boys, by compliance with his wishes,
now asked her if she could sing ?

" Oh ! no :— I must not do that ? "

" Why not ? If you can sing, why not sing as well as play ?
I am sure you can sing, you have such a nice voice."

" Really, I must finish your mamma's turban."

214 FANN75 THE LITTLE MILLINER :

*^ Not before I have had one song."

" Really, Sir, I could not take the liberty."

" Then you shan't work ! " and so saying he seized the turban,
and held it aloft.

" Oh I pray don't ; you will destroy all my work ; you will
indeed, and your mamma wants the turban to wear to-night**

« One song ?**

** Well ; if I sing one song will you give me the turban and
go away ?"

'^ You shall have the turban when you have sung the song."

'' I am afraid your mamma will be displeased with me for
taking the liberty to play and sing in her house."

" Not a bit ; — my mother likes singing, and so do I ; so now
begin."

Verjr reluctantly, and with some misgivings, but thinking there
was no real harm in humouring a boy who was the son of her
protectress, Fanny sang ; but it was fated that her notes should
reach other ears, and hasten the catastrophe of her mysterious
Ufe.

The door of the boudoir had been left open, and the sound
of the music reaching the party in the dining-room, the quick
ear of Lady Sarum was arrested at hearing the notes of a harp
at such an hour.

"Did you bring any one with you?" she asked of her mother.

" No, my love," said Lady St Austin; ^* why do you ask ?"

" Surely the sound of that harp comes from my boudoir."

'* Is any one there ? "
Only the milliner-girl, who is at work at my turban."
Who can it be taking the liberty to touch your harp ? "

" Can it be that girl ? No : — where is Augustus ? Hark, there
is the sound again ! "

"Some one singing," said Lord Manley; "upon my word,
whoever it is she has a most beautiful voice."

" It is very extraordinary," said Lady Sarum to her mother ;
"something oppresses me strangely I — Let us go up-stairs."

" Should I be considered an intruder ?" asked Lord Manley ;
" I confess, that voice attracts me."

" You may come," said Lady Sarum ; " but you would not
leave Lord Grandborough."

" He need not," said Lord Grandborough, rising up with a
dignity and a firmness that he seldom displayed ; "the hour is

OB, THS BTCH Ain> THE POOR« 215

come I The finger of God is here ; my daughter,'' he said to
Lady Sanim, — " it is decreed ; let us go.**

Lord and Lady St Austin regarded the Earl with surprise and
commiseration : Lady Sarum was powerfully afiPected, and Lord
Manley witnessed the scene with wonder. Lord St Austin put
his hand to his head ; and looking at Lord Grandborough and
then at his daughter, made a significant gesture, to intimate his
fear that his friend's brain was disordered : but to the astonish-
ment of all, the Earl observed the motion, and replied with
gravity :

'^ No, my dear lord, it is not that ; would to God that it was,
rather than what it is I But the mystery must be solved, and
God has chosen his own time ; follow me."

They ascended the stairs, Lady Sarum and her mother pre-
ceding the rest ; atid as they went forward the plaintive voice of
the young girl sounded so sof); and melodious in their ears that,
entranced, they stopped to listen, while Lord Manley drunk in
with all the greediness of excited passion the delicious accents : —

FANNY»S SONG.

The stricken hind can seek its forest lair.

The bird finds shelter in its parent nest ;
The tender mother breathes the fervent pray'r.

And softly soothes the infant at her breast ;
Bat she "who never knew a father's care ;

On whom a mother's smile has never shone :
Where shall the orphan— child of dark despair —

Find refoge in her grief? — ^in Heav'n alone !

"It is Heaven's own work," said the sorrow-stricken and
penitent lord, as he went forward ; "it is the hand of Providence
that has directed the child to the house of its parent : " but no
one heard this.

The noise of the music prevented Augustus and Fanny from
hearing the approach of the unexpected audience; and as the one
sat on the raised music-stool and the other stood by her, their
profiles were presented side by side. Lady St Austin was the
first to remark on it :

"Eleanor," she said to her daughter, "do you observe the
wonderful resemblance of the side-face of Augustus to that dark
girl?"

" I observed the family likeness before," replied her daughter
in a faint voice, — ^for she felt sick as the truth of her suspicion

216 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER :

became confirmed : it seemed to her as she scanned the outline
of their countenances, that she v^as gazing on brother and
sister — ^but still there was mystery !

The sound of her voice, however, was heard during a momen-
tary pause in the music ; and Augustus and Fanny, turning their
faces towards the door. Lady St. Austin with her husband beheld a
countenance which, flushed as it was with excitement, filled them
with admiration at its extraordinary beauty : Lady Sarum looked
alternately firom one to the other in her endeavour to trace the
likeness of the firont face which had presented itself so remark-
ably in their profiles, and rejoiced to miss it : Lord Manley gazed
widi eagerness on the brow which had first inspired him with
a real passion ; while Lord Grandborough, after looking stead-
fastly at the flashing eyes of the image of the betrayed Francesca,
uttered a loud cry of terror, and exclaiming, —

'^A miracle I a miracle I It is the dead risen from the grave !
O God I have mercy on me!" — ^he fell on the floor insensible.
Lady Sarum had him conveyed to his a^partment ; and taking
leave of her guests established herself by his bedside to watch
over him, lest some unguarded expression in his delirium might
betray to unfit ears an important secret ; and resolved to question
him on his recovery with respect to his mysterious declaration.

But as it was necessary to send Fanny home, she summoned
the housekeeper, Mrs. Buckram, who had accompanied Lady
Sarum in her memorable visit to Rebecca, and confided Fanny
to her care, with strict injunctions to see her safe to her own
door. Lord Manley offered to take Augustus with him to look
at the illuminations, which the boy was anxious to see, as it was
a change firom the dulness of the house, and promised to be pro-
ductive, as he said, of some "fun," These matters being
satisfactorily disposed of, Lady Sarum, with calm determination
to arrive at the truth of the mystery, resumed her place by the
bedside of her father-in-law, who remained in a sort of lethargy.

OR, THE BICH AND THE POOR. 217

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE ILLimiNATIONS.— XB8. BUCKRAM's DISASTERS.— FANNT*S DANGER.— HER

RESCUE. — REBECCA.— REVELATIONS.

So &r as age and appearance were concerned^ it was impossible,
certainly, for Fanny to have been entrusted to a more suitable
duenna than the austere and formidable Mrs. Buckram, whose
aspect alone was sufficient to inspire with awe the most auda«
cious reprobate that ever peeped under the bonnet of a pretty
milliner. That respectable lady, whose person had always
evinced a kindly disposition to assimilate with itself the good
things of the earth, and who for many years had filled the im-
portant office of housekeeper at Grandborough Castle, had
become firom habits of ease and luxury so amazingly thick and
square, that she resembled nothing more nearly than her fat
pug dog that had been petted and pampered on a cushion
before the fire till it had become a shapeless mass of wheezy
obesity. As the night was mild, and the distance not great, she
condescended to endeavour to walk to the nearest coach-stand :
but as the streets began to be crowded with people anxious to
see the illuminations on a gala night, the pair made progress
with difficulty ; and as the old lady worked her way through the
crowd, she might be compared to a Dutch barge breasting the
mass of people which impeded her progress like the surging
waves of the sea, with Fanny attached to her like a little skiff
following modestly in her wake. On reaching the coach-stand,
they found, as might have been expected on such an occasion,
no coach or cab to be hired. In this difficulty, Fanny offered to
find her way home alone ; but to that proposition the old lady
would not listen, as Lady Sarum had given her the most precise
and positive directions not to lose sight of Fanny until she had
' deposited her safely in her own dwclUng. But in endeavouring
to pass down a by-turning which seemed more free from the

218 FANNT, THE LITTLE BOLLIIIER;

obstruction of the crowd, there was a sudden rush of a mob of
persons eager to catch sight of some celebrated personage who
was passing in the adjoining street in his carriage, and Mrs.
Buckram and Fanny, included in the vortex, became violently
separated; and while the former from her bulk and solidity
was enabled to remain pretty nearly stationary till the torrent
of people rolled by, the lighter form of Fanny was whisked away
like a straw on a current, and carried far away from her protec-
tress. It was some time before the housekeeper could recover
her breath, and fill herself out again after the compression of
the weight and crushing of the crowd, — having been squeezed
together momentarily into the shape of a Norfolk biffin ; and
when she was enabled to walk on, she of course looked after
Fanny, in all the places where she was not to be found; and
it was in vain that she made inquiries of various persons of
different ages and conditions if they had seen a young lady
answering her description. In the meantime, Fanny found her-
self forced, by the impetus of the torrent, half-way down the
street, and she found it impossible to extricate herself from the
mass of people by whom she was surrounded. As she was not
used to such scenes, she began to feel alarmed at being alone at
night amongst such a mass of people, — though it must be con-
fessed, to the infinite credit of the benevolent feelings of the
community, that many individuals of the male sex, both old
and young, made her the most polite offers of assistance, to see
her home, or otherwise to afford her the advantage of their pro-
tection. Three young gentlemen from St. Mary-Axe, in
Taglioni coats and a cigar in the mouth of each, which they
considered to be *^ the real thing," were so urgent in their soli-
citations, — one of them taking her round the waist, in order
to protect her, as he said, from the pressure of the crowd, —
that Fanny thought she should faint with alarm ; and her perse-
cutor taking advantage of her weakness and distress, and forcing
her through the side of the crowd into a street less thronged
than the main one, was hurrying her along out of breath and
too much terrified to call out, when to her surprise and joy she
beheld Lord Manley and Augustus, who were making a short
cut that way in order to get to the street of the principal illu-
minations. They might have passed her in the obscurity, but
making an effort, she screamed loudly; and Augustus calling out,

OB, THB BICH AND THE POOS. ^ 219

^' By Jove, there's the little milliner girl, and somebody making
off with her I" Lord Manley in an instant darted to her rescue,
and without ceremony knocking down her abductor with a blow
of his fist which made him see more lights than all the lamps of
all the illuminations, and leaving the prostrate assailant of dam-
sels to get up as he could, he hurried Fanny away to a place
free from the crowd. A few words sufficed to explain her forced
separation from Mrs. Buckram, and the insults which she had
received from some of the mob. Lord Manley had a strong
inclination to suggest the propriety of endeavouring to find the
poor old lady, as her age and corpulence would make it dan-
gerous for her to be exposed to the tumultuous concourse of
people on an illumination night, — an arrangement which would
have afforded him the delight of being in Fanny's company for
gome time, and which would have given him the opportunity of
introducing some questions which he was anxious to have an-
swered. But on second thoughts he considered that the public
parading of a handsome girl might possibly commit her in an
unfavourable way, and subject her to impleasant surmises: he
was injluenced, too, by other thoughts, the true nature of which
he could not well define, but which prompted him not to allow
her to appear in a position that could in the shgbtcst degree
derogate, from the dignity and p.urity of one on whom he felt
that his affections were fixed in a way that was strangely irresis-
tible. Sacrificing his inclination, therefore, to what he consi-
dered to be his duty, he at once accompianied Fanny towards
her home, Augustus insisting on giving her his arm, and feeUng
exceedingly proud to be constituted the protector and champion
of a ** pretty gal."

In this way they proceeded in the direction of the little milli-
ner's home ; but on crossing the end of a principal thoroughfare
in which the illuminations were particularly brilliant, their atten,
tion was attracted by a noisy altercation between two women,
which seemed to afford extraordinary satisfaction to the mob.
who lent their best endeavours to get up a fight.

" By George 1 " cried out Augustus, *^ if there isn't old Mrs.
Buckram fighting with a mad woman I "

It was indeed that precise old gentlewoman, who, with her
intellects confused by the noise and the lights, and her apparel
torn and disordered from the impertinent pressure of the

q2

220 FAIVNT. THE LITTLE MILLINER:

people, and making inquiries of every one who would attend to
her after her lost charge, had suddenly been encountered by a
strange-looking woman who confronted her in the crowd.

^^ Hah I " exclaimed the woman, seizing the astonished house-
keeper by the arm, " are you come out of the house of mourn-
ing to rejoice among the fools who are content to gape at the
pictures and the lights in exchange for their darkness and
misery at home ! I know your fet face, though I cannot recol-
lect where I have seen it ; but it seems to be one of those that
belong to my persecutors,"

"Get away, woman 1" cried out the housekeeper; "get
away, woman! — ^you have been drinking, you have, you bad
woman ; and you are tipsy : — Cleave go of me, I say I '*

" I will not leave go of you," replied the woman — who was
plainly either crazy or inebriated ; " I say you are one of my
persecutors. I remember the hard lines of that cruel face well 1 "
she said, holding up her finger, and scanning the features of the
terrified housekeeper, as if vainly endeavouring to recal some
remembrances to her mind; *^but now I bethink me, you have
grown older."

" Older 1 you wicked woman," exclaimed the housekeeper;
go along with you, — ^you are tipsy, you are, and mad be-
sides. Is there nobody to help me?" she said, appealing to
the crowd, "I am Lord Grandborough's housekeeper; — ^I will
reward "

"I was sure of it," cried out the mad woman: — "it was
nature that made my blood rise against you ! I remember, you
were among those who hounded on the dogs of the law to worry
to death my poor husband ; but there will be vengeance yet !—
there wiU be vengeance ' "

" Thank the Lord," said the terrified old lady, as she caught
sight of the well-known faces of Lord Manley and Augustus, and
rejoiced at her now certain rescue from the clutches of this she-
bear, as she called the woman ; " here is Lord Manley and Lord
Sarum's son to protect me ; now, you wicked woman, you shall
be taken to the station-house, and sent to the tread-mill,"

But the sight of the son of Lord Sarum instead of. inspiring
the alarm in the mind of the crazy woman which Mrs. Buckram
relied on, only turned her attack in another direction. She fol-
lowed the party down the side-street and up a. court into

OR, THE RICH AMD THE POOIU 221

which they immediately turned in order to avoid her annoyance ;
but the court had no thoroughfare, and the woman continued her
vociferations : —

" Stay r she cried out ; — ** I have a word to say to the son of
Lord Sarum; a word, perhaps, that he may not like to hear;
but he may thank his father, and his fether's father for the evil
that is to come to him ; — stay I say, and hear me l**

" My good woman," said Lord Manley, stopping, — and par-
ticularly vexed to be annoyed by a crazy old woman following
them through the streets ; — '* you had better go home quietly : if
you are in distress and deserving of relief I will relieve you ;
but if you persist in following us, I must give you in charge to
the police."

"Ah ! — that's always the way with the rich ! That's always
their cry, — *if you are deserving of relief;' yes ! if you are de-
serving 1 When a poor wretch is in the extremity of distress,
the cant is to inquire if you * are deserving of lelief ;' and while
the inquiries are being made, the poor wretch dies I Why will
you not feel that distress is always deserving of relief — not for
the distressed perhaps, for they may be undeserving — ^but for
the sake of yourselves, who ought to rejoice in the opportunity
of having a charitable action to do !"

Lord Manley could not help being much struck with the
language of the woman, which was so superior to her appear-
ance : the calmness of her tone dispelled the idea which he had
at first entertained of her being intoxicated with liquor ; — but her
unsettled look ; the wild glances of her eyes ; and her incoherent
expressions indicated that she was not in possession of her senses.
It was plainly a case not to be dealt with harshly, but rather to
be pitied ; he tried to soothe her with words of kindness and
commiseration : —

•* I fear you are ill, my poor woman, you had better go home
and try to sleep. Where do you live ?"

** Sleep !" replied the woman, " I never sleep 1 They killed
my husband, and that killed my sleep ! and then they murdered
all my little children ; all — every one ! — Would that make me
sleep ? And then they thrust me in prison — could I sleep there ?
And at last they caught me and put me in a mad-house, and
tried to make me sleep ; but I would not sleep I No : I knew
why they wanted me to forget ; but I kept awake — and remem-

222 FANNTi THE LITTLE BOLLINEB:

bered : — ^I was always remembering; and they shut me up there
for days, and nights, and years — yes, for years ! I knew it was
for years, because the snow came and went away ; and then the
green leaves came, and they went away ; and the snow and the
leaves came again ; but I never slept : I always looked at them,
and they were a&aid of me ! But I have escaped from them
nqw, and they shall not shut me up again. — ^I met one man who
was with me — ^when was it ? I forget the time — ^but I remember
every thing else. And you are Lord Manley ?— one of the cruel
aristocrats who oppress the poor! But there is something in
your face that looks different to the faces that I have been used
to see/^

" My good woman," repeated Lord Manley, very much en*-
barrassed how to get rid of their tormentor without violence,
** really you must leave us, and go home ; or else—"

** And Lady Sarum," struck in the housekeeper — anxious to
fortify Lord Manley in his determination to get rid of the mad
woman by some summary process ; — ** Lady Sarum particularly
desired me to see this yoimg lady home immediately. Pray,
Miss Francesca Sidney, how far is it to your house ?"

" Francesca I" said the mad woman, ruminating ; *^ that is a
name I have heard before ! — Ah I I remember I Lord Sarum I —
Francesca!" she repeated, approaching Fanny and examining
her countenance ; ** is it a dream ! or am I really mad ? — Am I

in London, or on th'e moor, where ? No : — this girl is

young, and that ? Francesca ! — is your name Francesca ?'*

" My name, my good woman," said Fanny, in a mild and
commiserating voice, (for it was plain that the poor creature who
questioned her was mad,) " is Francesca. What do you know
of that name ?"

" Francesca !" repeated the woman, pressing her forehead with
her hands; — "that was the name: but my head is confused
strangely. And yet that night ! — could any one forget that
night? And as I held the little thing in my arms, I remember
it soothed me — for it reminded me of my own which I had lost ;
and I thought that all my tears were dried up— but they came
then."

" But what do you know of the name of Francesca ?" asked
Lord Manley, whose imagination, excited by the events of the
day, was prepared to meet with information by means and in ways

OBf THfi BtCH AND THE POOB* 223

the most unexpected and extraordinary. — *^ What do you mean
by your exclamation at the name of Francesca?''

*^ What do I mean ?^ said the woman, her speech becoming

^ suddenly animated; '^was it not I who received the child in

my arms when she was saved from the pit ? Ay, — go and ask

Lord Sarum : and did not the little thing nestle m this bosom ?

and was it not I who chafed its limbs, and cherished its breathy

and brought it back to life ? — No thanks to me, perhaps, for

that, if her life has been like so many others, a life of privation

and unhappiness ! But it was I and the wife of Matthew the

woodman who brought the child to life I — But it was lost ;

carried away — no one knew where : some villany of Lord

Sarum's or Lord Gicandborough's ; — but there's a secret to come

out yet Ay I they tried to get it out of me, but they couldn't 1

I knew well what they wanted 1 — They chained me up ; and they

chained mc down; and they flogged me — the wretches, they

did ; and they burned my brains with red-hot irons ! But I kept

my secret close — close — close I — and I wouldn't sleep ; — because I

knew if I slept they would come and steal it out of my head ; so

I kept my eyes open — always vnde open — so I — and when I

looked at them, I knew they were afiraid of me. — But I shall be

revenged of them yet !"

" You had better go on," said Lord Manley to Mrs. Buckram,
<^and take this young lady home; I vnll see that this poor
woman is taken care of." There was something in the words of
the woman, mad and wandering as they were, that powerfully
excited his curiosity ; but he wished to examine her in private
and alone. ^^ Come, Augustus, we vnll just make our way down
St James's-street and Pall-mall, and then go home."

Augustus shook hands with his new acquaintance, and Fanny
curtsied her thanks to Lord Manley for his politeness.
** Take care of your cross," said Augustus.
*^ What about her cross?" asked Lord Manley, remembering
Lady Sarum's communication at the dinner-table.

" They have made one snatch at it already," replied Augustus :
^^she has been telling me about it; she thought she would have
lost it in the crowd."

" A cross I" exclaimed the mad woman ; " did you say a cross ?
Am I really mad, or do my ears hear and my senses understand
aright ? Francesca I — that was the name ; and there was a gold

224 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER :

cross ; — I remember it well. Ay — ^and Lord Sarum remembers it
too ! What is the meaning of this ! Young woman — stay ; — I am
not mad ! though they will call me mad. What I have suffered is
enough to make me mad indeed I but I am not mad I — It is
grief — many sorrows — husband and children all lost 1 — that
makes me wander sometimes : but I remember it all now, as if
it was yesterday ; — was it not yesterday ? No ; that cannot be,
because since then they have kept me for years in a horrid place ;
— but they could not make me forget "

" What is it," said Lord Manley, — checking the wanderings of
the woman's mind, and trying to bring her back to the point
which had led her to address Fanny in a manner so strange and
earnest, — " that you have to say about a cross and this young
lady?"

" This young lady ? " said the madwoman, — " nothing 1 What
have I to say about this young lady ? It was years ago, and
when the child was saved they found a gold cross which was
supposed to belong to her mother, who was destroyed; — Ire-
member it well."

. "Should you know it again," said Fanny, in a voice of
excessive agitation, while Lord Manley listened with passionate
interest '

. " It is lost !" said the madwoman.

• " Was it like this ?" said Fanny, — drawing her long-cherished
relic from her bosom, and holding it up to the light of the lamp
near which they were standing.

The woman clutched it eagerly, and with a frantic gesture
which frightened its possessor; — she looked at it for^a moment^
and then at Fanny.

" How did you become possessed of this ? " she said.

" It is mine ; it was found round my neck when I was saved
from the sea; — I believe it belonged to my mother. But if
you know anything about it, good woman, tell me, — pray tell
me ; " and the tears came into Fanny's eyes with hysterical
emotion.

'* And do you know," asked the strange woman, " who was
your mother?"

" No : I never knew my mother."

" Nor do you know who was your father ? "

** I never knew my father nor my mother : but this was my

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 225

mother's cross I devoutly believe ; and I have never been parted
from it Oh I — my good woman-— dear good woman — tell me ;
Lord Manley — make her tell me. ' If you know anything of me
or this cross, and if you have any feeling of pity in you, you
trill tell me. — I will pray for it on my knees 1" ,

** Hah ! " cried out the madwoman, exultingly ; " is it come to
tMs? Does noble blood debase itself in the streets to the poor,
ill-used, persecuted, hunted madwoman ? Now then my revenge
begins I — and my husband and my children shall be avenged !
But — ^no ; this is the child that I received into my arms ; she came
tu me from the bowels of the earth — to me, her second mother. —
No ; not on her should vengeance fall ! Doubtless, she has suf-
fered enough 1'*

** Oh tell me I tell me I** implored Fanny ; " if you know any-
thing of me or of my parents, — ^tell me, as you have hope of
heaven!''

" Poor child," said the woman, — softened at the grief and
humiliation of the girl ; ^^ poor child I her tears almost disarm
me of my determination of revenge I — But, no ; I will be firm I
It is my murdered husband and my murdered children that cry
for vengeance ; and now it is coming. — Young girl, I will tell
you this : — It was I who received you in my arms when you
were saved from the pit, on the moor, near Grandborough Castle.
That is the cross which was found, and which I know belonged
to your mother; — but there are more secrets yet to tell; and I
wait for my visions to inspire me : for I will tell you," she said,
whispering low and confidentially to Fanny, " every night at the
frdl of the moon there is something that comes and talks to me ;
and the spirit tells me what to do."

**But what and who are you?" cried Fanny, wildly, as the
woman turned to go away.

" Ask Lord Sarum who I am I he knows me well ; — tell him all
that I have now told you : and tell him that you have seen the
widow of the man whom he and his father murdered."

" But where shall I see you again ? "

"At the White Woman's Pit, on the Moor; wait till the
full of the moon, and then I will call the white woman to
come to us out of the pit, and we will dance round it together ;
that will be a merry meeting ! — and there I will tell you all.

226 FAXHTy TBE UTTUB mLLonoi:

At the White Woman's Pit I — You know me now ;-*I am Be-
beccaT

" Oh I the old hag ! " exclaimed the honsekeeper, — ^ I remem-
ber how she frightened my lady, years ago : what a shame it is
that they don't confine such people ! — I shall never recover the
dreadful squeezing I have had this night !"

Lord Manley and Augustus took a hasty leave of Fanny ; but
before they turned round to depart, Rebecca had disappeared.

OB, THE BICH AND THE FOOB. 227

CHAPTER XXXVL

HOKE TB0VELB8 JOB f AMMT.— L0B1> lEANLEY TBIB8 TO BEASON HTWBBL? OUT

OF LOVE.

Mbs. Buckram, rejoiced to find herself free from the madwoman,
and mentally vowing never again to take charge of young
ladies, on illumination nights especially, but revolving in her
thoughts the strange and mysterious words of Rebecca, whom
she recognised as the woman whom she had visited many years
ago in a hovel near Grandborough Castle, — lost no time in con-
veying Fanny to her own home ; and without accompanying her
up-stairs, she waited only till the door was closed to inake the

best of her way back to square, in a hired cab, carefully

closing all the windows, and hiding her head as close as possible
in the comer lest the madwoman should catch sight of her, and
insist on further acquaintance. With the well-bred discretion
of a confidential domestic, she refrained from repeating the
strange words of Rebecca respecting the family name ; and as
Lord Manley had given the same caution to Augustus, the affair
escaped being made the gossip of the household, and remained
a secret for the present with the parties immediately concerned

In the mean time, Fanny, agitated and almost terrified with
the mysterious words of the strange woman, hastened up-stairs,
when a scene met her eyes which added another shock to the
events of the day.

She beheld her adopted mother stretched on her bed in the
agonies of death ; the landlady of the house was attending her,
and a physician, hastily summoned, was standing by the bedside.

** This,*' said the landlady to the physician, as Fanny entered,
** is the poor lady's daughter."

The physician, an elderly man, took her kindly by the hand : —

" Have you any near relations whom you shoidd like to call
in ?" he asked. ^^ I understand that this poor lady has already
received an attack which toiust have prepared you for the event
(poor Fanny burst into tears) which, I fear,is rapidly approaching."

228 FAMNT, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

" Can nothing be done ?" sobbed Fanny.

" My dear young lady, all art is vain here ; let us congratulate
ourselves that your mother is dying without pain."

" Is she conscious ?*' asked Fanny.

" I rather think not," replied the physician ; " but it is likely
that her senses may rally, as they almost always do in that re-
markable and mysterious pause which always precedes death."
Has she said anything ?" asked Fanny of the landlady.
She never spoke. Miss, after she was first taken. It was
lucky that I was in her room at thetime. I and the maid got her
to bed, as you see. Miss Julia and her mother were here up to six
c'clock, but a person came for them ; and here is a note. Miss,
which Miss Julia wrote to you." Fanny took the note ; it was
very short, and as follows : —

*^ Dear Fanny,

The most extraordinary thing has happened ! some old
relation of papa's has sent for us to Devonshire ; he is not ex-
pected to live, the messenger says, and we are to go down
instantly by the mail to-night Your mamma does not seem
very well ; but the landlady promises to attend to her, and I sup-
pose you will be home presently.

In haste, yours affectionately,

Julia."

Fanny laid down the note without speaking. She was alone,
then, — and another terrible task was before her ! She knelt down
by the bedside of her adopted mother, and putting her face on
her hands prayed silently for strength. She then rose up :
thanked the landlady for her attention, and searching in a drawer
extracted a purse from which she took a sovereign : the noiseless
sound of the purse as she let it &11 on the table showed that it
was the last one ; adding to this a shilling from her pocket, she
offered it to the physician.

He shook his head. " My dear young lady," he said, with
some emotion, for he guessed that such a sum was of no slight
importance to the inhabitants of that humble room, " we do not
take such fees from the hands " — of the poor, he was about to
say, but he checked himself as he looked in Fanny's calm and
dignified countenance, — ^^ from the hands of those who cannot

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOIU 229

easily spare it I wish that any assistance of mine could avail
in tMa case ; but it will spare you a more painful shock to pre-
pare your mind for that which must presently take place ; — my
poor child," he added, — taking Fanny's hands, whose eyes were
streaming with tears ; — " your mother is advanced in years, and
t;his is an end which precedes but a, short time perhaps the
xiatural life of man. Besides," he continued, — ^looking round the
xroom and giving involuntary expression to the thought which its
't:oo evident indication of poverty excited, — " who can tell how
xnuch sorrow your mother may have been spared by this release
£rom all the troubles of a life which is often so calamitous."

** That is true," said Fanny ; " but still the death of those we
love is very terrible,"

" See," said the landlady, " the poor lady is moving her
lips !"

The physician was presently by her side : the dying woman
did not move, and scarcely opened her eyes ; but she spoke :

" Fanny," she said, " I am dying ; — ^but do not grieve for me ;
rejoice rather that I am released. But stay ; a light breaks in
upon me I — ^the dying, they say, see more clearly ! — you will find
your parents — and you will be happy : but there are clouds and
darkness around you. When you were saved from shipwreck on
the coast of America — mind, the ship's name was the Albion — do
not foi^et that; and the captain's name was Hardfast; — do
not forget that ; — and the cross which was found round your
neck — do not part with it ; — ^let me see it again." Fanny placed
it before her eyes ; she looked at it and then at the physician, as
if asking him to witness her declaration ; — " that is the cross I" she
said. Her eye-lids dropped; they waited to hear more; but
she was silent The physician felt her pulse ; she was dead I
Gently he led Fanny from the room. " I will come again," he
said, " to see you ; but I must leave you now." So saying, he
retired, leaving Fanny alone in the solitude of her grie£ She
was about to enter the inner room ; but the kind-hearted land-
lady stopped her :

** No," she said ; " you are too young for such an office as
this, leave everything to me."

Kneeling down on the chair in which her beloved friend
was accustomed to repose, her mind benumbed with grief —
for there is ^ point of suffering in the mental as in the corporeal

.. a. ilk mind sk o^udi-

■(anx of thoD^u o 9Ki% die
of tht bnreBD in vin^ ie had
TMMKU tue pienw «*« mw -w anonifliiiiig a n»aic«ace lo
] Miirv, 1"' « "^""^^ - -■-aaMK.TiUtt fc ; as if bj- vn « in
haimo I* w«* Wi^^ i^-te-ifiicr a: me nraoeriM ^a md
ii„ imi»eueinuiit v=ii^ ^«- t-'^-t:
nun iiriatiw ic L^^ ju^ua- ^- :
I^w'j frfaiidaimiuci ^ ^ .1=*^ -i^^aii^ a; tns j
, ^. gu^jeet oc lur- ^Mi-^iizTi itnac. annoiemn' an liaTM^pMeaa.

1^ f y|itfaitp .£ ai mMtseamn^iH nneneDi bl me leiKC^aDaeli Id
_i,i(« tODchnc 3itf Bmndauinen: or uefitixuiiim of aaajnn —
wliicli aeem'^ ^ iKCoiiBaE iiini wiib toe mas jwnnd rooI-
l^jflgg^ 1^ artaapnOL acranm: of ^bt vdouc Angiitis td the
iltiath of vaae vort -wctmaiL in cme of lUf rwpltwwri pis oi the
jagar dht GnndiKiRiacti Caacie. amui tiim be a cmioiif cainci-
AgacB, oecanine: te Bach a lime: all ^iie incidanif beani^ai the
— {^tion d Ymimx had cvms cq rhr-m ai aaa^ and as ii vac
in ■ be^^ "^ ^ some fBcdetennined lesui^ vere ccami^ing
to some cenaia end. Bje mind likCD lecmrsd to tbe slm^
jmfti^ ^^ ^^ '^^ woman irbo caiUed bezself Bfbeoca, aod
who aoHDcd or pretended to be -weD acquainted idth die seoets
f^ Fanny'" histon. He dvelt on die dmunGttmoe of die
iKflnfi") B«l>ecca, baring a preriooE acqnsintanoe with die
.pgUM' of Fraaceeca, and of her knuwledge of die ezistenoe of
^^ tfpm, which it seemed erident was the same which had been
1 at die e^e of die pit when the woman sapposed to be
aiV mutber was lost ; eo that the identity of Fanny ap
Bin point seemed to be proved ; she was the child
a the pit. But what reliance could be placed on the
id-woman? Still, mad though she might be, she
A die cross ; — and there was an expression of feel-
nbrance of bsviog received die child in her arms

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR 231

after its rescue from deaths which he felt was genuine — for there
ig a language of the heart which all intuitively understand^ and
in the interpretation of which we arc never deceived : — ^but still
the mystery of Fanny remained unsolved.

From these thoughts he turned to his own position ; and he
ivas frightened to perceive how deep was his interest in the fate
of the little "milliner girl." He found himself entirely absorbed in
one single idea — ^Francesca ; — ^for it was by that name that he
niost loved to musp on her. Sleeping or waking she was ever
present to his thoughts ; her welfare and her destiny seemed
entwined with his : he could not conceal from himself that in
sU his plans for the iuture the association of her image entered
into all his arrangements. There was another thought^ too^
^^Rfhich, when it first flashed on his consciousness, thrilled through
Tiini like an electric shock, and overmastered him with the
excess of emotion which it excited ; he felt that Fanny felt
-for him a more than grateful feeling for the trifling service
■which he had rendered to her and to her mother. He caught
the expression of her eye as she looked at him timidly, and he
could not be mistaken ; he would not be mistaken ; the con-
viction of having inspired the feeling which prompted that look
was too intensely delicious to allow him to think of doubting its
reality. But what did that intimate ? Could he dare to
examine his own heart, and sound in it the depth of his pasaion
for the beautiful and interesting girl ? And what was to be the
end of it? — Could he marry her? — Marry whom? — Who was
she ? The pride of ancestry ; the pride of rank ; the pride of
position ; the opinions of society ; the habits of his mind and of
his education were all against such an unequal alliance ; placed
in the scale, what was there on the side of the humble girl to
overbalance the weight of opinion, of custom, and of prejudice ?
But when he threw the young pure heart of that innocent girl
in the opposite balance, — birth, rank, fortune, opinion, prejudice
and custom flew up and kicked the beam I showing the light-
ness and the worthlessness of all else when weighed against that
single jewel — ^love I

The young nobleman, noble-hearted as he was ; high in feeling
and pure in principle ; imbued with all that is chivalrous and
honourable, and extracting from the aristocratic pride of a long
line of almost regal ancestry all that is good to exalt and purify

232 FANNT THE LITTLE MILLINER:

the heart of man, and leaving the dross for vulgar minds to revel
in, struggled hard with his passion and endeavoured to stifle it,
as he hoped, in its early budding; but he had a powerful antago-
nist to contend against in the speaking portrait which was
regarding him, and still more in the image which was engraven
for ever on his heart He went to bed, — determined at once to
turn his mind to great political objects which might engage all
his time and attention, and help him to banish from his
thoughts the image of one whom he felt he must ever love, and
with whom he feared he never could be united. Satisfied with
this determination, at once moral and heroic, he fell asleep;
dreamed of Fanny all night ; beheld the pictured features of
her the first thing on his waking in the morning; and then
made up his mind that it was his duty to use every endeavour to
clear up the mystery in which her history was involved. This,
he flattered himself, he was resolving to do entirely on principle,
and solely for the sake of the poor girl, and not at all from any
personal considerations relating to himself; as, after the resolu-
tions he had come to on the point, he considered himself as
acting merely as any other disinterested person would do in
such a case ; and as he felt that it would be extremely disagree-
able to him that any other person should interfere in respect to
the welfare of Miss Sidney, he thought it best, in order to pre-
vent that which would be doubtless annoying to the young lady,
to take the whole management and responsibility of the affair
upon himself. With this laudable resolution he proceeded at
the earliest hour which decency would permit to call on Lady
Sarum, to consult with her on the subject.

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 233

CHAPTER XXXVIL

LOYE AND JEALOUSY.

LoBD Grakbborough remained in a state of lethargy from
which it wds found impossible to rouse him, and it was in vain
that Lady iSarum endeavoured to ascertain the cause of his
strange emotion or the meaning of his mysterious exclamatibns
in respect to the young milliner girl. The family physician who
attended him, assured her there was no danger so far as his < art
could discover; but he did not dii^uise from her his opinion
that there seemed to be some mental dise^ at work whkfb,
perhaps, might terminate in a result of all others the most
afflicting to humanity. In the meatitime, he rei;ommended that
his patient should be kept as quiet as possible, and th&t lio
allusion should be made to any subject which Lady SaniYn
might know, from experience, would lead to the exacerbation of
her father-in-law's feelings. ' . •• »

Lady Sarum, therefore, was obliged to seek in her own im-
perfect knowledge the solution of the mystery which hung roiihd
the little milliner in relation to her husband and to her father-
in-law. With respect to her husband, it seemed to her mind
too clear that Fanny could claim his parentage; the striking
resemblance of the young girl's profile with that of her son
Augustus ; the dark eyes and the foreign cast of complexion
which seemed to point out her country on the maternal side ;
the emotion of her husband at the mention of the portrait of an
Italian girl by Lord Manley ; all went to corroborate her more
than suspicion— her conviction, that Fanny was the daughter
of her husband. She felt that thrill of jealous feeling which
instinctively overcomes a woman at such a thought; and her
mind rapidly wandered into painful conjectures about the
mother. Was she still alive ? — who was she ? — where was she ? —
did she still retain that exquisite beauty, which, judging from
the daughter, must have rendered her so fascinating in her
youth ? With a woman's curiosity she longed to see her ; with
a wife's repugnance to an intruder she shuddered at the thought

R

234 FAzonr^ thb uttlb iollineb:

of looking on her ! And her husband ! what were his feelings
towards this primary claimant on his affections ? Did there still
remain in his heart any lingering remains of his former attach-
ment to the mother of Ins daughter? — ^for that Fanny was certainly
his daughter she had reasoned herself firmly into the belief
of. She anxiously reviewed the whole of his conduct towards
herself since their marriage ;— rit had been invariably attentive,
kind, and tender ; she could discover nothing to complain of—
except this fault, which was now revealed ; — ^but that occurred, as
she calculated, long before he knew her ; at least before he re-
newed with her the acquaintance of their childhood, and before
his knowledge of her character and disposition had led to his
solicitation of her hand : she felt soothed as she considered that
be had preferred her. Suddenly there came over her the remem-
brance of her husband's extraordinary emotion at the altar, on
the christening of their son ! — the scene abo which took place
between her and the mad woman at the hut, vividly recurred to
her recollection ; she thought of the menacing words of Rebecca,
and of her prediction of the unhappiness which would afflict
her husband when he heard the communication of her mysterious
warnings : and then she pondered over Lord Sarum's extreme
dejection of mind since that awfiil day ; his firequent fits of de-
spondency amounting almost to despair, as if some hidden grief
was consuming him I This last consideration was like a ray of
light to her mind in the darkness of her conjectures ; she felt
sure that she had found the clue to her husband's secret sorrow,
and to his long and painful sufferings; sufferings which could
never end, because they were caused by his uncertainty as to the
&te of his child! All seemed now clear to her; — ^Fanny was
her husband's child; she had been saved fi*om a dreadful death,
and then had mysteriously disappeared, leaving it uncertain
whether she was alive or dead, or what had become of her.
And this was the reason, she felt satisfied, of her husband^s
journey to Italy ; it was with the object of discovering the lost
child ; of seeing, perhaps, the mother, if she was still alive.
Here a pang shot through her quivering firame so exquisitely
painful, that she placed her hand to her side as if she had been
materially stnick by the plunging of a dagger in her heart I She
blushed, and trembled, and wept hysterically ; and was tempted
to give orders for immediate preparations to be made for her
following her husband But her pride came quickly to her

0B» THE BICH AHD THB POOR. 335

aid. Was it seemly to try to force a revelation of her husband's
secret ? — Was his confidence to be won by intrusive importunity ?
Even supposing her husband had left England with the design
of again seeing the mother of his unfortunate child ; and admit*
ting even that circumstances had conspired to cause a renewal,
in some small degree, of his former passion for her — although
the feelings of the wife led her to deplore that misery-*-yet the
feelings of the high-bred lady did not less strongly prompt her
to the consciousness, that to attempt to force affection was the
worst way to produce it or to keep it; and that the love of a
husband is not to be secured by insisting on it as a matter of
right, but is to be retained only by kindness, by forbearance,
and indulgence. In the wandering of her thoughts, how-
ever, and jumping to conclusions frpm premises formed by herself
— ^an error in which stronger heads than women's are apt to
&11 — she began to consider whether it would be proper for her
to see Lord Sarum again after conduct so slighting to her as his
present journey, taken for the purpose of renewing acquaintance
with a former mistress ? She thought of consulting with her
mother. Lady St Austin, on the subject ; and then she shrank
from exposing her own humiliation. But, on the whole, she was
inclined to think it was due to herself not to see Lord Sarum
again, without an explanation ; as unless bis conduct could be
justified, which she did not see how it could be, their further
intercourse could only lead to unhappiness ; so that separation,
which she feared she must fairly determine on, would be best ;
and then she wept bitterly at the thought of being separated
from one whom she had loved so long and so dearly ! Although,
as his affections were now turned away to an unworthy
otgect, it was impossible for her ever to feel towards him
again the love which she had hitherto cherished! — that was
impossible I — ^how could she, now that his feelings towards her-
self had so entirely changed as to cause him to make a journey
to Italy, on purpose to find out a creature who had been the
object of an improper passion so many years ago ? — ^It was a
dreadful affliction I After the lapse of so many years, too I which
proved that his original attachment must have been very strong,
or it never could have survived years of absence, — ^that was,
if there really bad been any absence all the time. Was it pos«
sible that Lord Sarum had been deceiving her during a long
series of years; and, while professing attachment for her,

R 2

236 FANNT>. THB LITTLE MILLINER:

that he had been clandestinely bestowing his attentions . on
another ? — No : that could not be I — Her appreciation of Lord
Sarum's character was too just to allow her to indulge in that
idea ; Lord Sarum could not do that — No : it must be, after
all, that his only anxiety was to discover the &te of his child ; —
and that was natural ; — ^indeed, on reflection, she thought she
should esteem Lord Sarum less if he had shown less anxiety
about the &te of his daughter. And how extraordinary it was,
that this very daughter should come to her, as it were, for assist-
ance, and place herself in her hands as in the hands of a
protectress ! — that the daughter of the mistress should appeal,
unknowingly, to the wife ! The words of Lord Grandborough
recurred to her at this thought ; ^^ the finger of God is here ;
it is decreed ; let us go ;" — those were his very words. Was it
then a Providence that had conducted the daughter to the house
of her father, and had placed her under the care of that father's
wife? — ^and was it ordained, also, that the father should quit
the roof under which his child was sheltered, to search in a
foreign land for that very child whose breath even then was
mingling with the breath of her father.

^< There is some mysterious purpose in this," said the won-
dering lady to herself; ^^ and it seems that my part is to protect
this child, and to be the means of restoring her to her father in
a way that is to accomplish some predestined end. I will accept
the trust," she said aloud, in her enthusiasm, ^< which God has
given to me."

As Lady Sarum formed this benevolent resolution, she felt
her heart relieved of an uneasy load ; her mind was lighter ;
and she breathed more freely. Glowing with renewed love and
increased pity for the sufierings of her husband, she generously
resolved to conceal from him for a time the sacrifice she was
making of her feelings to her duty ; and she determined, before
she made known to him the history of Fanny, to make his
daughter worthy of his acknowledgment, by giving her the
accomplishments which she knew would be pleasing to him..
She was led to practise this reserve by another consideration
abo ; as her good sense gradually prevailed, and enabled her to
consider the matter in its true light, she could not but be aware,
that however strong her own suspicions might be, still they were
only suspicions; and that, possibly, it might turn out that
those suspicions were erroneous. It would be highly indelicate.

• OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 237

therefore, she thought, for her to thrust her protegee forward on her
liusband's notice as his daughter ; it was for him, she considered,
and not for her, to make the discovery of the child's identity.
If it should eventually prove that the girl was her husband's
daughter, she felt that in no way could she more surely secure
Ids gratitude than by bestowing her care on his child, and pre-
^venting her from suffering the difficulties and privations, and
<;oming to the harm, perhaps, to which her present position ex-
posed hen

Finally, therefore, she resolved to see Fanny's adopted mother
"without delay, and to make such arrangements as would place
them at their ease, in a pecuniary point of view, and which
"would also enable Fanny to receive instruction in various accom-
plishments, — which, as she was not more than seventeen years
of age, she was still young enough to profit by. With these
kind and generous intentions, her ladyship visited Lord Grand-
borough the next morning with more composure ; and sat down
afterwards in her boudoir to sketch out a little scheme for the
future proceedings of her protegee. She was thus engaged,
when her maid announced to her ladyship that Lord Manley
had called, apologising for intruding on her ladyship at so early
an hour of the morning, on account of the particular business,
which the man in waiting had informed her his lordship wished
to communicate to her ladyship.

Lady Sarum smiled as she thought of Lord Manley's enthu-
siasm about the little milliner-girl; — and not without some
curiosity to know the nature of the business which had led him
to pay a visit at so early an hour, her ladyship descended to the
drawing-room to receive him.

238 FAKKT, THE LITTLE HILLINEB:

CHAPTER XXXVm.

LADY SARUM AND THB PORTEAXT.

Ladt Sarum could not avoid remarking that there was an em-
barrassment in Lord Mauley's manner, strikingly at variance
with the usual well-bred ease of that accomplished young
nobleman. Although she had known him intimately since his
childhood, and the difference of their ages allowed her to treat
him with almost maternal familiarity ; an affection which — as his
mother had died when he was of veiy tender years, he had been
accustomed to return with almost filial deference — on the
present occasion his manner was so constrained and his air was so
serious, that she hesitated to break the silence which, after the '
first salutations, was preserved between them. But as it was
necessary to break the ice somehow, her ladyship not knowing
at the moment what else to say, made the very English ob-
servation : —

^^ It is a beautiful morning I"

"Very beautiful," replied Lord Manley,— dwelling on the
word, and considerably gratified by the observation which
seemed to chime in with the current of his thoughts : " I was
up very early this morning; and I assure you, although in
London, I felt the force of the pobt's expression of ^ rosy-fingered
Mom ;' — by-the-by, don't you think it is a great mistake vrith
the poets always to represent their female figures with blue
eyes? — ^black are so much more expressive I"

Her ladyship guessed in a moment what had prompted her
young firiend to desire that the " Goddess of Mom" should be
represented in future with black eyes instead of blue; and
although the suggestion was not flattering to herseli^ inasmuch
as her own eyes were of the colour which angels are supposed
by painters most to delight in, she forgave the little mistake in
favour of the lover-like remembrance that prompted the obser-
vation. She smiled as the thought passed through her mind ; —
but in a moment after, recollecting the reflected relationship
which Lord Mauley's black-eyed beauty bore to herself and the

OB, THE BIOH AND THB POQB. 380

Angularly delicate and awkward position of the young girl,
parentally and socially^ she looked grave again.

^^ Fray/' she said^ ^< was it to tell me that you got up early
this morning, that you have paid me a visit at this unfashionable
hourT

'^ How is Lord Grandborough ?" suddenly asked Lord Man-
ley, as if it was only that moment that he recollected the
particular object of his visit

Lady Sarum's gravity grew more serious : she remembered
that Lord Manley had heard the extraordinary words uttered by
Lord Grandborough the day before ; and she felt that the whole
affair was of too delicate a nature to be ma^e the subject of con-
versation with any other person than her mother. She replied,
therefore, briefly, and with some hesitation, that Lord Grand-
borough was easy; and added, that her father-in-law had &llen
into a habit of late of wandering a good deal in his talk.

There was a pause at this; — the subject was evidently not
pleasing to Lady Sarum, and Lord Manley ,was embarrassed to
prolong it with propriety. To help the conversation, he asked
where Augustus was.

"Lord Sarum was very earnest," her ladyship said, **that
Augustus should go back to Eton without delay ; and the boy
was dull at home ; he was to return that very day.

Lord Manley offered to see him safe at school ; an offer which
was immediately agreed to by his mother, — ^and this little &vour
offered and accepted, immediately set them at ease again.

"You expressed a wish," said Lord Manley, "to see the
picture which I bought at the auction the other day x^ — (Lady
Sarum became immediately interested) — "I have been examining
it with a good deal of attention. You are aware that I am rather
fond of pictures ?"

" I have always thought so,*' said Lady Sarum, with a slight
tremor in her voice.

" I was looking at it for some lime,'' he continued, colouring
slightly as he spoke, "when I first woke this morning, and,
certainly, the hand is an exquisite piece of painting ;"— (Oh, oh I
thought her ladyship, this accounts for his wanting rosy-fingered
Mom to have black eyes I) — " but that is not what I was going to
say; I mean, that on examining it over and over again very
minutely, I discovered the date — ^I have no doubt that it is the
^te — with the artist's initials | but the firame being too small^

240 FAIVNT^ THE LITTLE BOLLINfiR :

they were not easy to find out^ — but it is quite plain that the
date is the date of the picture."

*^ Indeed I" said Lady Sarum, becoming more and more in-
terested.

" The date," continued Lord Manley, " was eighteen hundred
and' : just eighteen years and a-half ago ; so that the portrait
cannot be the portrait of her— of the young — of Fran— * I mean
of Miss Sidney."

^^ Certainly not," said Lady Sarum, striving to appear composed.

" No : as I say, it cannot be her portrait ; but it must be —
most likely — the portrait of her mothdr."

Lady Sarum blushed deeply.

**As I was saying — of her mother. Now as yoiu: ladyship
takes so kind an interest in Frances — ^in the young lady's welfare
-^it has occurred to me that it might be the means of clearing
up the mystery which is attached to her; and as we may say,
perhaps, that we have discovered the mother, we may also dis-
cover the father "

Lady Sarum became violently agitated.

Lord Manley was at a loss to account for the mysterious
agitation of the whole family whenever his picture was made
the subject of conversation. Fortunately, as he thought, for the
relief of her ladyship's embarrassment, the footman in waiting
opened the door, to announce that a case about four feet high
and three feet broad, which had been sent by Lord Manley, had
arrived.

"It is the picture," said Lord Manley, in a low tone, " which
you vnshed to see. Shall they take it into the breakfast-room ? —
it is rather too lai^e to be brought up here."

Lady Sarum nodded her assent

" The case opens with a door," said Lord Manley ; " this is
the key ; will you honour my piurchase so far as to come down
stairs and see it ?"

"Leave me," said Lady Sdrum, "for a few minutes. Go
down stairs to the picture, and I will join you presently."

The young nobleman obeyed, not without an increase of
wonder as to the cause of the extraordinary emotion exhibited
by her ladyship on this occasion of the introduction of his
picture. It would be difficult to describe the mingled feelings
of curiosity and dislike with which Lady Sarum contemplated
ap inspection of the dreaded polrtrait. That it was the resem-

:(m, THE BlCU AND THE POOB. 241

blance of the mother of Francesca that she was about to see, she
had no doubt; and the thought of the portrait of a rival — a
living rival, perhaps — ^being in her own house, filled her with the
most poignant sensations. For a long time she struggled be-
tween her desire to see the picture and her reluctance to look
upon a countenance which instinctively she hated ; but curiosity
previuled, and with as much composure as she could assume she
descended to the break&st-room.

Lord Manley had ahready caused the picture to be placed so
as to display it in the most advantageous light; and the servants
having retired, he stood with Lady Sarum before it with the key
in his hand. He was about to apply it to the lock ; but Lady
Sanvn — ^whosc agitation, in spite of all her attempts to repress or
disguise it, had now become excessive — stayed his hand.
. « Wait !" she said, « a moment."
Lord Manley placed a chair.

Lady Sarum sat down; and placing her two hands on the
elbows, after a pause of nearly a minute, she said, in a tone of
stifled desperation,
"Open it r

. It was opened. The perfection of the human form, a coun-
tenance radiant with beauty, eyes brilliant as light, burst upon
die excited gaze of the trembling wife, — ^who, falling back in her
chair, and clasping her hands over her face, gave way to a
passionate flood of tears, in which it would be hard to say
whether there most predominated the feeling of jealousy or of
admiration.

' Lord Manley stood aghast at the effect which his picture had
produced, and which he had flattered himself would have been
an agreeable surprise to his amiable friend, who, he doubted not,
would have been as delighted to see the resplendent charms of
the portrait as he was himself! What could produce a burst of
tears instead of a burst of praise he was utterly at a loss to
imagine I — Li some confusion he shut the door of his treasure,
and was about to lock it up ; but Lady Sarum motioned to him
to. desist

. << Call on me again," she said, in a voice almost inarticulate,
*^ in an hour."

; Lord Manley retired, more perplexed to account for all these
fits of emotion than ever he had. been in his life; but more
anxious than ever to penetrate a mystery which grew thicker

242 VAJmr, THE LTTTLB BOLLINBE:

and thicker as he went on : and as the scene which he had just
witnessed naturally presented Francesca to his thoughts^ he
meditated on her story with increased interest, and considered
that the recent occurrence made it more than ever his duty to
investigate the matter thoroughly, and to take the young girl who
was t he object of ail this mystery into his especial care and pro*
tection.

In the meantime, Lady Sarum remained alone, in silent
contemplation of her rival

As she gazed with &scinated eye at the entrancing features of
the beautiful Italian, she could not deny that if ever a w6man had
been formed for man to idolize, that woman's image was now
before her I She felt that she could almost forgive a man for
foigetiing his duty, and falling in love with a creature of such
surpassmg loveliness ;— that is, any man but her own husband.
She turned to the glass, to compare her own features with those
of the portrait : it was with a hesitating movement that she
did 80 — as if she feared to be assured of her own inferiority.
But there was no resemblance between them ; it was comparing
the rich efKilgence of the rose with the dainty loveline^
of the lily: both were beautiful of their kind, but each dif-
ferent in its character. On the one side, she beheld the
eyes of blackness brilliant in darkness ; the warm brown tint of
the Italian complexion ; the raven hair ; the expressive eyebrows,
marked and determinate. On the other, she beheld the refleo-
t ion of her own soft Saxon features ; the fair and pellucid skin
of alabaster whiteness ; the mild blue eye, full and beaming ;
the classic hair; the delicately-arched eyebrow; and the sir of
voluptuous sofhiess, which characterized her own lovely features.
She looked again and again ; she admired more and more the
brilliant beauty of the Italian ; but she became more and more
reconciled to the loveliness which even in her maturity she was
conscious she possessed herself. Then she began to meditate on
the change which the lapse of years had caused in the features
of the original of the portrait : it was with complacency then
she recalled the general opinion that foreigners with dark
complexions grow old in their looks sooner than fair persons.
Calculating from the time when the picture before her had been
painted, she found that the age of the Italian, if she was still
aUve, was probably about her own ; and again she indulged in
conjectures on the deterioration which must necessarily have

OB, THE BICH AND THB POOB. 243

taken place in the face of the ori^nal, — who now, no longer

j^oung, must have lost much of the piquancy which youth lends

to southern beauty ; and again she studied her own features in

the glass, and was pleased to find that years had produced little

change in her, — unless it was that her beauty in its maturity was

more pleasing, perhaps, than it was in the rawness of her girlhood.

She dwelt for some time on the study of her featiures in the

fedthfiil mirror, never before having had so earnest an occasion

for measuring their merits with a rival's ; but on turning hastily

round to look at the picture again, the eyes of the Italian seemed

to flash on her with so triumphant an air, that, abashed, she closed

the door, and sat down with a feelingof painful self-abasement

She almost felt that she stood face to fiice before a mocking

rival ; and it was some time be£9re she could conquer the painful

and humiliating feelings which the ideal interview produced.

At last she locked the door, and returned to the drawing-room ;

where she had scarcely seated herself, before Lord Manley was

again announced.

<< You have come back before your time," she said, smiling
sadly ; ^^ I said an hour."

^^ I feared that I should be behind my time, for it is two hours
once your ladyship dismissed me."

** Indeed I — Have I been looking at that portrait two hours ?^
exclaimed Lady Sarum, unconsciously giving utterance in words
to her own surprise at her long abstraction.

^'It was not about the portrait, that I was desirous of having
the honour of a conversation with your ladyship/' said Lord
Manley ; *^ but about the original."

'< The original P said Lady Sarum, starting with fear.
** I mean her who might be taken for the original," replied
Lord Manley; ^Hhe interesting young lady respecting whom
your ladyship has so kindly interposed to assist with your protec-
tion. I thinJ^ it my duty to lend my aid towards — ^towards — I
mean in a way that may be beneficial : not that I think the word
charity ought to be applied in the present case ; but under the
circumstances — as I have been a contributor to that admirable
society, in which your ladyship has taken so kind a part, for the
relief and encouragement of milliners and dressmakers; — although
Miss Sidney cannot be said, in my opinion, to come within that
class: on the contrary, I fi^l a decided conviction that it will
turn out that Miss Sidney is of a superior births which if it

244 FASSY, THE LITTLE MILLINER :

cannot be exactly ascertained, — still it is all the same when the
mind is convinced of the truth : but for my own part, I trust I
am superior to the vulgar prejudice about rank and birth, — except
in particular cases. It is worth, dear Lady Sarum, that makes the
woman — ^I mean the man. You know, as Bums so well ex-
presses it, ' the rank is but the guinea stamp' — the woman — ^that
is ' the man's the gold for all that :' in short, I think it my duty
to pay particular attention to Miss Sidney's case, from motives of
public duty ; and I have determined therefore to have a particular
interview with her, in order to take down all the particulars of
her story, should she do me the honour to entrust me with them,
in order that I may see her claims, or rights, if she has any, pro-
perly acknowledged; and this I assure you I do, dear Lady
Sarum, entirely from a sense of public duty."

^'Indeed!" said Lady Sarum.

^* And you must allow that it would be highly unbecoming in
me, — ^as I have, as you know, a larger fortune than I know what
to do with, — to allow this opportunity to slip of bestowing part of
it where it would do so much good."

"Your intentions," said Lady Sarum, "are obviously benevo-
lent in the extreme 1"

** Now don't say so in that mocking way. And it was precisely
for this purpose that I wanted to ask your advice, as I am aware
that gifts bestowed by young men on those of the opposite sex
are apt to be misconstrued."

It is too often the case," said Lady Sarum.
It is for that reason, therefore, that I thought it might pos-
sibly be agreeable to your ladyship to allow my — my— I don't
like to call them donations — ^what shall I call them ? — the assist-
ance which I may render, to pass through your hands, as if
coming from yourself"

" You forget," said Lady Sarum, with much seriousness, " that
as I have made up my mind to extend my protection to this poor
girl (Lord Manley winced at this epithet of " poor girl"), I do not
require any extraneous assistance to do for her that which I may
think advisable under her circumstances. Happily, we also are
as rich,— or indeed richer, than we care to be ; — ^you would not,
therefore, wish to deprive me of the pleasure of contributing to
the comforts, and more than the comforts, of this — ^this mys-
terious girl. In short," added her ladyship, "as I have ctaken on
myself-^and this her ladyship said with a decision of tone which

OB, THE' BICH AND THE POOR. 245

she intended to be imposing) — ^as I have taken on myself the
future provision for this little milliner-girl, it is easy for your
lordship to understand that any other interference than my own
would not be required.**

*'Oh! of course — of course; any other assistance than your
own could not possibly be required under the circumstances
which your ladyship is pleased to mention ; — ^that is» pecuniary
assistance : but there are services to be performed which your
ladyship is aware can be rendered only by male friends ; — ^in-
quiries to be made, matters to be investigated, and discoveries to
be followed out, which it would be unfiur to allow your ladyship
to be involved in. Upon these points, therefore, I am happy to
be able to meet your ladyship's wishes, and to express the plea-
sure which I shall take in personally interfering for the young
lady's welfare : and as we are now agreed, I can have no objec-
tion to be the medium of conveying your ladyship's determina-
tion to your young protegee; because I feel that, under the
peculiar circumstances, great discretion will be necessary ; and
that a course of proceeding requiring particular caution and
prudence must be adopted, in order that the desirable result
which we both wish to see may be effected. So that perhaps the
best thing I can do is to wait on Miss Sidney, and learn from
her those particulars which will be essential for the proper con-
duct of her affairs." So saying. Lord Manley withdrew, to carry
his very benevolent and disinterested intentions into effect,
leaving Lady Sarum a prey to many bitter and discordant re-
flections.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

FANNT ALONE.

LoBD Manlet having come to the conclusion that nothing was
more reasonable and proper than that a young nobleman of two-
and-twenty should assume the position of mentor and protector
to a young lady of seventeen, returned home in a very satisfac-
tory humour with himself, and filled with the most kindly and

246 FAinnr^ trb uttlb xiuimbe:

benevolent intentionB to all the worid in generaly and to Mifls
Francesca Sidney in particular* He was the better pleased with
himselfy as he considered that he had gained a triumph over his
passion by the force of reason and reflectioUf and that he could
now regard the young milliner-girl in a purely abstracted point
of view, as one of the many thousands requiring the aid and
countenance of tne rich: and also as one naturally felling within
the drde of his duties^ as a member of the wealthy aristocracy of
the country, to guard from the various accidents incidental to her
condition. With this view of the matter, he persuaded himself
that it was a point of principle for him to disregard the trouble
attendant on the local investigations which, he entirely agreed,
were so proper and useful in cases of this description ; and that
it was right for him, personally, to make the necessary inquiries.
He resolved, therefore, to call on Mrs* Sidney at her own
dwelling, where he should have the opportunity of observing the
actual condition of the milliners and dress-makers in London ;
and, as Mrs. Sidney was of an age which would not allow of his
visit being misuiterpreted, there could not be the slightest impro*
priety, he assured himself, in his taking that very proper step.
But these excellent intentions were unseasonably disturbed by
letters which he found on his return home, containing informa-
tion of apprehended disturbances in a county in which he had
considerable estates, and which peremptorily called for his im-
mediate presence. The communications were of a nature so
pressing, that it was impossible for him to disguise from himself
the necessity of his instantly repairing to the scene of the antici-
pated outbreak. Not a little vexed to be obliged to postpone
his visit to Mrs. Sidney, he sat down to write a short note to
Lady Sarum, making known to that lady the necessity of his
immediate departure from town on an afiTair of the most uigent
nature. He had hardly finished the following notet when his
travelling-carriage came round to the door. The note ran
thus : —

** Dear Lady Sabum,

" A very urgent matter suddenly calls me into — — shire.
The truth is, that I have received information of some disturb-
ances of a serious nature being threatened in the county of ;

and as you know I have some estates there, I cannot well refuse

OMf THB BICB AHD THE POQB. 347

the urgent remonstrances that are made to me to lose no time in
repairing to the spot, in order that I may use such influence as I
possess for their prevention. Fray don't mention this to any
one at present, except to those of whose discretion you are
assured ; for these things are always magnified, and often made
worse by exaggerated reports of the evil. I am the more
annoyed to be called away at this moment, as it will prevent me
from fulfilling your wishes in respect to the inquiries which you
were desirous that I should make relative to the condition of
Mrs. Sidney. As I am upon this subject, perhaps you will
pardon me for taking the liberty of suggesting that it would no
doubt be disagreeable to that lady for any stranger to interfere in
her afiairs, as his visits might be misconstrued to their disadvan-*
tage. I am the more particular in mentioning this, as I may
consider myself a firiend of the fiunily; and I am naturally
desirous, as I have beffun this matter, that its prosecution should
be left to me excluswebf; always excepting, of course, your lady-
diip, whose plans in fitvour of this decayed gentlewoman entirely
accord with mine. By-the-by, while I think of it, it might be
aa well if you would mention to Mrs. Sidney the reason of my
not calling on her according to the promise which she may sup-
pose I intended to make ; and it occurs to me that it would be
doing a great service to that very deserving lady, to be very par-
ticular in impressing on her the propriety of not permitting visits
to be made by othens than ladies— or at least, persons of her own
sex — lest they give rise to surmises: I mean, to unfounded
reports — ^which might prejudice her in the minds of the society
of which your ladyship is so zealous a member. But this cau-
tion, I have no doubt, has already suggested itself to your lady-
ship's mind ; therefore I will not dwell on it, fiirther than to say
that, in my opinion, her conduct in this respect is a point re-
quiring the greatest discretion and delicacy. I take up this
question, as your ladyship is aware, and as I endeavoured to
explain when I had the honour of a conversation with you on the
subject this morning, entirely on public grounds, which makes
me the more anxious to give it my personal attention, without
regard to the trouble which the proper investigation of these
matters necessarily involves. Feeling that the due welfare of
this very deserving gentlewoman is perfectly safe in your lady-
ship's bands, I shall leave town quite at ease on the subject,

248 FANNY, THE LITTLB MILLINER:

though I cannot but feel very anxious on any matter which
interests your ladyship's benevolent heart and feelings.

" I have the honour to be,

^^ Dear Lady Sarum,
'^ Yoiur most obedient servant and attached friend.

His lordship having relieved his mind by this very charac-
teristic epistle, which caused his attached and quicknsighted
friend to shake her head very seriously on its perusal, stepped
into his carriage, and made the best of his way to the scene of
the expected disturbances ; where he was detained for ten days,
during which time he despatched three letters to Lady Sarum,
touching slightly on the great question which absorbed all
others in the public attention : namely, the relative conditions
of the Rich and the Poor, and of the Employers and the £ni»
ployed ; and dwelling with some minuteness on that *^ very
admirable society, of which her ladyship was so distinguished^
member," for the assistance and encouragement of milliners and
dressmakers, — and which naturally led him to speak of the par-
ticular case which, as his lordship was pleased to represent, had
specially attracted her ladyship's attention.

Lady Sarum, on her part, had considerable doubts as to the
course which she ought to pursue in a matter of so great delicacy
as that of Francesca. On the one hand, while the nobleness of
her disposition prompted her to perform a generous part, by
taking under her care one whom she had such strong reasons to
suspect was so nearly related to her husband; on the other,
certain sensations which she could not well define induced a
vague feeling of disinclination towards the child of a woman
who might be still living, and whom she could not but regard as
having occupied a place in her husband's affections most painful
to contemplate. Thus racked in her thoughts, and swayed to
and fro, as the jealousy of the wife and the generosity of the
woman by turns predominated, she determined to confide the
secret of her suspicions and fears to her mother, and consult her
as to the proper course for her to pursue under circumstances in
every way so embarrassing. But again she thought, on further
reflection, that the secret was the secret of her husband, and as
such that it was her duty to respect it; besides, she did not
know in what light Lady St Austin, who was extremely sensi-

OB| THE RICH AND THE POOR* 249

ti^e on all points touching her daughter's due estimation, might
view Lord Sarum's journey to Italy — the country where the
mother of the girl, if she was still living, was probably residing.
Lady Sarum's sensitive nature shrunk from any eclat, or public
exposure of the case ; and her love for her husband Mras too sin-
cere, too deep, and had lasted too long as the habit of her mind
and the great principle of her life, to allow her to take any
step which might unnecessarily hazard his repose of mind, and
increase the hidden grief which she felt had for many years
embittered his existence. In this state of painful indecision, —
both as to her intentions and to the mode of carrying them
into effect, — she remained for many days ; but as she concluded
that Fanny was of course under the care of Mrs. Sidney during
that time, she was not pressed, by the consideration of the girl
being in immediate want or difficulty, to come to any precipi-
tate or forced decision in the matter; and she was rather inclined
to wait for a communication from Lord Sarum, in the hope that
some expression, or the general tone of his letter, might help
her in her determination.

Thus poor Fanny was left alone in her grief and her distress,
without having any human being to whom she could confide her
sorrows, or on whom she could rely for assistance or advice ; for
of Julia and her mother she had heard nothing since their
sudden departure for Devonshire. She had no acquaintances.
As is generally the case when a family falls from the condition
of easy circumstances to a state of poverty, their old acquaint-
aoees fell off as a matter of course, of themselves; and with
respect to new ones, as Mrs. Sidney's means did not allow her
to enter the circles to which she had been accustomed, and as she
could not accommodate her habits to the inferior tastes of persons
'without education, she and her adopted daughter knew, and were
Icnown by, no one.

By selling nearly every article of furniture which Mrs. Sidney
liad possessed, Fanny was enabled to pay the expenses of the
funeral ; and in this she was assisted by -^the kind-hearted land-
lady. She walked behind the coffin of her dear second mother,
as it was borne on the shoulders of men to its humble grave, and
no one noticed her : it was only a poor person's funeral ! and it
was natural that the daughter should weep for the mother I And
while some said in the misery and hopelessness of their ceaseless
and ill-requited toil, that it was a happy thing for any one to be

8

250 FANNV, THE LITTLB BOLLINSR:

released from a life of poverty and wretchedness, others doubted
whether it would not have been better for the mother and
daughter both to have been included in the same grave I

Fanny returned to her lodgings, now denuded of the
fiirniture which had made the sorry garret look comfortable;
the well-known table, the fiuniliar chair, — all were gone : the
place looked chilly, and cold, and desolate. She moved the
little table from the bed-room to the front one, and placing her
only chair beside it, sat down: but it was there her dear
mamma was accustomed to sit! — the remembrance was too
painful I She took back her table and chair to the bed-room : but
it was there that her beloved friend had breathed her last I — she
could not bear it It was a lovely May day : she opened the
f|X)nt windows, and thought that she should like to take a walk I
But where to go to ? — ^who to go to ? — there was no <me I It
was then that she indeed felt alone in the world I — ^And while
she dwelt on Lord Mauley's considerate kindness, and on Lady
Sarum's benevolent sympathy, as if a dream that was passed, she
felt that the energy of her mind was rapidly giving way under
the pressure of the black despair which assailed her in her
dismal solitude.

She returned once more to her bed-room, and in the morbid-
ness of grief dwelt on every circumstance of the dying moments
of her adopted mother. She mused on the extraordinary
clearness and strength with which she had spoken just before
her death I She recalled her remarkable words — which seemed
to have been prompted by some mysterious agency, rather than
to have emanated from herself; — " You will find your parents !**

'^Is it," she thought, ^^that the dying do indeed dee more
clearly ; and does knowledge which is hidden to us in our mortal
state become revealed to the flitting soul in the act of regaining
its freedom from earthly trammels ? — She said that I should find
my parents ! Can there be such happiness in store for me ? —
Can it be that awful mad-woman, who met us on the night of
the illuminations, who is to be the means of discovering them ?"
She mused again on this. She had not had time ; and her
thoughts had been too much engrossed by her grief for her
friend's death, and in making the necessary arrangements for her
funeral^ to think much on the mad-woman's wild threatenings
and promises* But now she dwelt on every word that she had

OR, THE RKB AND THE FOOB. 251

Uttered ; and she endeavoured to draw light and hope even from
her incoherent ravings.

<^It was very strange !" she thought ^^ Now I think of it, she
knew Lady Sarum's housekeeper ; and she knew me I or seemed
to know me. She remembered my name ! — ^and she said that
she had received me in her arms when I was saved from the
pit ! — What pit ? It must have been that which she called the
' White Woman's Pit* But she did not say where it was : —
but she said if I would meet her there she would tell me
all ! And she said there was a secret I — She knew this cross
again I — and when I knelt down, she cried out, *Does noble
blood debase itself in the streets?' — I remember that. But
what did she mean by * noble blood? — could she mean my
noble blood? — Mine! But she was mad! — ^what is the use
of attending to the ravings of a mad-woman ? Still she re-
membered my name : — and she recognised the cross I — There
must be something in that. And she talked of taking ven-
geance on Lord Grandborough and on Lord Sarum — I should
be sorry if anything happened to Lady Sarum ; — but she said that
I had suffered enough ! — I wish I could see her again ! And who
is that Matthew whom she mentioned ? — She called him Matthew
the Woodman : — does he know anything about me ? And his
wife I — How could I find them out ? What a strange fate mine
is! — I wish Lord Manley was an old man: I would speak to
him about all this." And here Fanny fell into a deep musing,
which lasted for more than an hour, till the shades of evening
drew in, when she was interrupted by the landlady.

** My dear young lady," said the landlady, — ^when she had re-
covered her breath, after the fetigue of ascending the long flight
of stairs, — " there's a man below, who wants to see you."

The idea of Lord Manley was so vividly present to Fanny's
imagination, that instantly concluding that it could be no other
than he who wanted to see her, she hastily answered, blushing
exceedingly as she spoke ;

" It's quite impossible ; it is, indeed. Pray tell his lordship,
that it would not be proper for me to see him. — I cannot, in-
deed !"

*' His lordship ! — What are you talking about, my poor girl ?
The man doesn't look much like a lord ; though lords do go
about now-a-days, so that you can't distinguish them from cab-

8 2

252 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

men with their great rough coats I — I don't think he's a lord, my
dear; and if he is, he's an old one; — ^he is dressed in a country-
man's working jacket, and he is quite an old man ; so there can
be no harm in your seeing him, if he wants to see you : and he
says he has a letter for you."

" A letter ! — a letter for me ? There can be no harm in seeing
him. — May I see him in your room, down stairs?"

^^ To be sure you may ; perhaps he has some good news for
you. — I am sure she wants it bad enough, poor dear girl," ejacu-
lated the good-natured landlady to herself, as she preceded
Fanny down the stairs.

<< Is your name Francesca, miss ?" said an old man with white
hair, and a hard, wrinkled face — ^^ because I'm to be sure to give
the letter to yourself, and none other."

'^ It is," said Fanny, ^^ that is my name ; but I am always called
Fanny."

" Fanny ! that wont do. — Let's try another way. Did you
see any one in particular on the illumination-night, a bit ago ?'

^^ I remember a strange scene with a tall, dark woman, who
called herself Rebecca."

*^ That's right ! But I have been an old miner in my time,
and I've learned to be cautious, you see, miss. — Here's the letter 1
Stop — I was to say, very particular, that no one was to see it but
yourself And so I brought it, for old acquaintance sake — ^for I
knew her, poor thing, when she was better off."

Fanny took the letter, and read it to herself.

^^ Those that are highest will be lowest, and those that are
lowest shall be highest. Life is sweet — to some — and rank is
sweet — and wealth is sweet — ^but revenge is sweeter still I Secrets
must be told in secret places. If you have courage, meet me
at the place I told you of, — at the full of the next moon. But you
must come alone! — Only we three may meet together at the
White Woman's Pit. She will come when I call her; and then
you shall know all.

" Rebecca."

OB. THE BICH AND THE POOB. 253

CHAPTER XL.

THE BZQUI8ITE.

It is not to be supposed that the sudden absence of Miss Julia
Makepeace had passed without the notice of Mr. Snob, who
was excessively surprised to learn, on making cautious inquiries,
that she had left town in a manner calculated to raise a suspicion
in his mind that there was some reason for her disappearance as
disagreeable as it was mysterious. Her inexplicable familiarity
with Lord Manley, on the occasion of her attendance at the
police-office was fresh in his mind, and with the instinct of
jealousy, he instantly bent his steps to Lord Manley's house,
determined to tax him with being privy to her departure, when
to his still greater surprise, he learnt that his lordship had in the
most sudden manner left town for the country ; and although he
questioned the servants in the most adroit manner, as to the
object of his lordship's journey, and the probable length of his
absence, he was unable to obtain the slightest information on
those points. Nor did his household seem to know to what part
of the United Kingdom their master was journeying ; and the
only, clue which Mr. Snob could obtain to Lord Manley's pro-
bable course, was that his own horses had taken him a stage on
the north road. Coupling this precipitate departure from
London at the height of the fashionable season with Julia's
sudden flight. Snob could not but regard this simultaneous dis-
appearance of the parties as a most suspicious coincidence, to
say the least of it; and it was not long before his jealousy,
operating with its usual effect of fermentation, brought him to
the irresistible conclusion that Lord Manley had run off* with
Julia — an act of immorality the more atrocious, as he regarded
the prize as in a manner peculiarly belonging to himself. Filled
with indignation at the abominable treachery of his friend, and
determined to call him to account for such an outrageous act of
villany, the moment he could discover the place of their retreat,
the exasperated Mr. Snob nourished his resentment till a fitting
opportunity should present itself of expressing his opinion
on the subject to the author of the affiront. It was un-
fortunate that the first occasion of his meeting with Lord
Manley was under circumstances calculated to add fresh fuel to
the fire of his jealous indignation.

254 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

It was a little more than a week after his discovery of the ab-
sconding of Julia and Lord Manley, that the Honourable Maxi-
milian Alexander Theodosius Snob reclined in his dressing-
room on a luxurious couch, in as picturesque an attitude as aa
invalid could assume, waiting for the arrival of the physician,
for whom his mother in excessive anxiety had immediately sent
on the first alarm of her son's indisposition. In truth, the Ex-
quisite was in a state of disappointment and chagrin quite suf-
ficient to ferment his blood in an appreciable degree, and to
change the colour of his countenance to a deeper yellow than
was its natural hue, and the reflection of which in the glass that
morning had filled him with so much afiright, that he willingly
acquiesced in his mother's earnest entreaties to take medical
advice on the subject. All his researches after Julia had been
entirely unsuccessful, nor could he ascertain from any of his
usual acquaintances where Lord Manley had buried himself. He
at first conjectured that the parties had gone abroad ; and he had
consumed a week in endeavours to trace them, through the
steam-packets, having made a trip across the water to Dover, in
the hope of learning some news of the fugitives. All thb
imusual excitement and exertion, so contrary to his usual habits^
had quite knocked him up ; and he had not yet recovered from
the rolling of the steam-boat which had brought him from Calais
to Dover, as he lay expecting the arrival of the physician. In
vain his valet shook over the couch judicious sprinklings of
esprit de millefleurs, and the most "veritable" eau-de-
cologne ; the smell of the steam-boat had entered into his soul,
and not all the odours of all the perfumers of Paris could wash
it out again.

" Jasmin," he called out to his valet, in a feeble voice, **my
salts r

" Yill Monsieur try dis * vinaigre de quatre voleurs ?'"

« Anythmg ! Jismin ; I feel very ill."

^^ De nerfs of Monsieur are tres delicats. It vas dat boul-
versement abominable of dat maudit paquebot vat make de
stomach of Monsieur turn round and round ; mais cela fera du
bien k Monsieur dans la suite. Plait-il?"

" Jarsmin, je suis faira, et je veux etre mange I"

" Comment ! Monsieur se croit femme I Ah I mon Dieul
quelle idee extraordinaire !"

" Je veux etre mangee ! je vous dis."

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. . 255

*^ Mais, Monsieur, composez vous ; on n'est pas antbropophage
dans ce pa;s-ci; on mange des choses assez extraordinaire, e'est
vrai, mais on n'est pas assez sauvage pour manger ses semblables I
quoiqu'ils mangent des plom-bodings et ce plat 6trange qu'on
nomme — comment? pdte de bacbis? ab! oui; mince-pies, me-
lange incomprebensible de beef, and pig, and sugar, and fat, and
comfiture, dat you call sweetmeats I Ab I il' y a vingt ans que
j'admire ce ragout Anglais sans jamais avoir eu le courage d'en
gouter I"

"You talk me to deatb! Jeesmeene, you forget my poor
nerves I Can't you understand me ? I want sottietbing to eat !"

" Quelque chose a manger ? Ah I c'est une autre affaire !
Vous voulez dire que vous avez faim, non pas que vous etes
femme I Bon I c'est une crise &vorable; on ne meurt pas quand
on mange ! And vat vould Monsieur tink to eat him ? a leetel
tasse of cbocolat? Tenez ; voila Monsieur le Medecin; be will
tell vat is bettere for Monsieur for him estomac."

" Sorry to see you laid up," said Dr. Caustic, advancing with
prompt and noiseless step to the couch of the delicate invalid ;
how are you to-day ?"

'* Jismene I How am I to-day ?'*

" Monsieur se croit bien malade ; mais I tink dat Monsieur se
porte assez bien ; except dat be is vera weak and melancolique :
he have vat Mademoiselle la femme de chambre de Madame sa
mere call de grubs of de mulli I"

** Can you ascribe any cause for these symptoms ?" inquired
the doctor, feeling his patient's very excellent pxilse, and guess-
ing at once what was the matter with him.

" Jismin I What is the matter with me ?*'

" I tink dat de estomac of Monsieur did have one vera great
twist in the paqueboat ; he call * Steward I steward !' vera moche ;
and den Monsieur fatigated himself beaucoup wid voyaging all
de nighte in de diligence— dat is, in de coach of de male when
Monsieur come to town last nighte; and he drink some boisson
Anglais — call him portere out of de coach window, and dat I
tink make him estomac more vorser, and cause de petit change-
ment de visage ; make it tout jaune comme un coin,— dat is^ all
yallow couleur— comme vous voyez, like vat you call one hay*
stack 1"

« How is your head ?" asked the doctor ; '* any follneBS ?**

" Jeesmin ! How is my head ?'*

2&6 . FAimT, THE LITTLE MILLINER :

"De fullness? Point du tout! De head of Monsieur is
quite vide ; how you call it ? empty of every ting ; no pain — no
noting !"

" No headach?" asked the doctor; "no pain in it?"

" Jusmine ! Have I any headach ?"

"Ah I mal-de-tete? no; ohl non! Monsieur's head has
noting in it at all."

"And pray," pursued the doctor " how are your ?"

'^Jismeenl How are my ? Ohl how very faint

I am 1"

" Charmant!" said Jasmine^ gathering more from the manner
than the words of the doctor, the import of his question, " Je
vais chercher "

But the conclusion of his sentence was interrupted by a knock
at the door ; and Lady Hookem, unable any longer to control
her anxiety for her darling and only son, entered the room, to
assist at the consultation.

** How is my poor boy ?" asked her ladyship, in a tone of ex-
cessive tenderness ; " I fear his extreme sensibility is too much
for him I — his nerves are like mine, Doctor ; so exquisitely deli-
cate ! What do you advise ? — What is the matter with him ?"

" Upon my word," said the doctor, " it is difficult to say ; he
doesn't seem to know himself what is the matter with him."

"Poor fellow I"

" And his man, who left the room when your ladyship entered,
does not seem to know more about it than your son."

"Gracious I Doctor; what then is the matter with my dear
boy?"

" Truly," replied the doctor, " we have no name in our medical
vocabulary for the disease with which your ladyship's son is
afflicted."

"Heavens! Doctor; what dreadful disease has my poor boy
got? — May he eat ? — ^may he drink ?"

" I think," said the doctor, " he might eat a beefsteak."

" Eat a beefsteak !"

" And drink — a pot of porter."

" Drink a pot of porter 1 — Eat beej6teaks and drink porter !—
why, Doctor, my dear boy never did such a thing in his life !
Even when a child the very mention of beefsteaks and porter
would almost make him faint away I"

" I thinki too/ added the doctor, " that if he was to gejt on a

0R| THE men AND THE POOR. 257

high«trotting horse, and take a brisk ride of twenty miles or so —
that is, before he took the beefsteaks and porter — it would do
him a world of good.

"Doctor! Doctor! this is always your way I You arc too
violent — ^you are indeed. My son has a very peculiar constitu-
tion, like my own — very delicate and sensitive. — But as to
riding, if you think that would do him good, here is Lady
Katharine Cutaway in the drawing-room wanting a cavalier." —
(Lady Katharine was a dashing young widow of very indepen-
dent character, and with fifteen thousand a year at her own
disposal, with whom and with which Lady Hookem was particu-
larly anxious her son should form an intimate acquaintance.) —
•* Come, Maximilian, rouse yourself, my dear boy, and take a ride
"with the pretty widow."

The Honourable Maximilian had already begun to think that
he had not been exhibiting himself in a very favourable light to
the honest and straightforward Doctor Caustic ; without saying
a word, therefore, he rose from the sofi^ — a signal for his
mother to retire, — which she did, accompanied by the doctor ;
not a little rejoiced at her son's sudden amendment, which she
attributed to her own judicious suggestion relative to the rich
and buxom widow. In the meantime the Exquisite, with the
assistance of Jasmine, in an incredibly short space of time
equipped himself for the excursion ; his mother, with hereditary
adroitness, having contrived to engage the widow in an animated
description of a horse which she had purchased the day before
at an immense price, and which from its singular beauty, being
covered all over with beautiful spots like a leopard, and from the
excessive length of its tail was, as she declared, quite a love I
She was not aware that the animal in question had recently
formed part of the stud at Astley's amphitheatre, and was cele-
brated in theatrical annals for his admirable performance in the
enlivening drama of the "Hunted Tailor.*' The high price,
however, which Lady Katharine offered for the beautiful creature,
which she had seen taking its exercise in Regent-street, was
such as to cause no hesitation in the late proprietor of the animal
at once to transfer him to her ladyship ; not thinking it neces-
sary, however, to accompany the description of his pedigree with
any enumeration of his brilliant performances in the ring at
Astley's. Now Lady Katharine thought that it would have a
very fine effect if she was to be accompanied that morning by

258 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEA:

some cavalier of her acquaintance, who would gratify her by
showing off the capabilities of her favourite — little did she think>
and little did the luckless Exquisite surmise what those capabili-
ties were ! However, as such was her ladyship^s pleasure, — and
her ladyship was rich and at her own disposal, as well as her
fortune, — Maximilian was too happy to please her by so trifling
an act of complaisance : and the lady, charmed with his prompt
assent, immediately despatched one of her grooms for the dis-
tinguished steed ; and as the stable in which the noble animal
was domiciled was only in the next street, he was quickly at the
door, duly caparisoned as became a horse of his quality and
merit The groom, who was a good-natured fellow, wished to
inform Mr. Snob that the horse had an odd propensity to stand
on his hind >legs ; but as the Honourable Maximilian piqued him-
self on his skill in horsemanship, and especially on a graceful
attitude, which he was aware was particularly admired by ladies,
he paid no attention to the groom's caution; and mounted in the
character of a favoured knight, he caracoled by the side of the
widow, unthinking of the fate that was to be&l him I

^^ I must make a call here," said the widow, as they reached
one end of Pall-mall ; ^* but I don't want to bore you to go with
me. Bide slowly towards the park, and before you get hal&way
down Piccadilly, I shall overtake you."

Her knight bowed and obeyed ; and turning his horse's head
up St James's-street, he rode leisurely along. It struck him
that one or two men with bow-inclined legs and very long waist-
coats, and of a peculiar stable-like air, eyed the horse, and him
too, rather curiously ; and being alone, and no longer under the
immediate influence of the widow for whose sake he had con-
sented to mount an animal of such singularity of appearance,
the queer glances of various persons made him feel a little out of
sorts ; but as it was for the widow's sake, he heroically braved
the looks and remarks which were directed to the animal, and
rode valiantly on : — but the worst was to come !

Some mountebanks had thought fit to select St James's-street
that day for the exhibition of their wonderful performances in tum-
bling and standing on their heads and one another's shoulders,
in a way both marvellous and entertaining. They were dressed
in flesh-coloured habits, fitting close to the body, so as to afford
U«Mfl»utoc« ft«d» Of Lb in fl»i, K^u«ic i«ri<™-

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOB. 259

ances ; as many spangles as could be conveniently stuck on them
added a splendour to their personal appearance, which was in
accordance with their characters and vocations.

The horse no sooner caught sight of those familiar appliances
than he pricked up his ears : he found himself among old ac-
quaintances ; and like the war-horse, who, when he hears the
sound of the trumpet, paws the ground and dilates his nostrib,
so did Astley's horse snort and whisk his tail at the coming
entertainment In the meantime the crowd gathered round,
thick and dense; and Maximilian found himself hemmed in
amongst a quantity of rough and dirty faces, animated with ex-
citement for the promised exhibition. With the desire to emerge
from the surrounding mob, Maximilian applied bis spur gently
to his horse's side ; but at that moment a kettle-drum and a horn,
which formed the orchestra of the peripatetic company, striking
up a well-known air, the horse supposing that the touch of the
spur was a hint to him to act his own part in the play, unmedi-
ately elevated himself on his bind legs, and striking out with his
fore feet as he had been taught to do in cadence with the music,
began to dance to the best of his ability, — with the wondering
Maximilian on his back. Far from sharing in the satisfaction of
the crowd at this specimen of the animal's talents, the pro-
voked Exquisite made a more vigorous application of the spur,
which the horse received as an intimation that his performance
had not met with the approbation of his rider. He sprung up
therefore on his hind legs, with his fore feet pawing the air with
increased animation, and the crowd shouted their applause ;
which reminded him of the noises which he was wont to hear at
Astley's, and which always accompanied his much admired
performances. And now the mob delighted with this novel ad-
dition to the gymnastics of the jugglers, and, judging from the
remarkable appearance of the animal and his rider that they
formed an integral part of the entertainment, grew vociferous in
their admiration, and *^ a ring! a ring!" was shouted on all sides,
to allow scope for the due exercise of their activity. It happened
that the part of the street in which the Exquisite found himself
hemmed in, had been strewed with bark-dust from a tanner's
yard, to prevent the noise of the pavement from disturbing an
aristocratic invalid.

This substance bore so near a resemblance to the sawdust on
which the horse had been accustomed to show off histrionically,

260 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

that lie now thought himself qmte at home ; and the retirement
of the mob on all sides, forming a circle similar to that at
Astley's Theatre, and the Exquisite continuing to use his spur
with frantic energy to urge the horse to break through the crowd,
the well-instructed animal, excited by the prick of the spur,
conceived the very reasonable idea that he had mistaken his
business, and that the continued admonitions of the performer
on his back were to direct him to take his course round the
circle, which he immediately proceeded to do, to the utter
amazement of poor Snob. At this moment, also, the Ex-
quisite perceived to his infinite horror that a considerable body
of the members of a certain aristocratic club close by the scene
of action were admiring his evolutions with intense interest,
and adding the approbation of their loud laughter to the mob's
uproarious applause. In a state of desperation the alarmed and
exasperated Exquisite stuck his spurs viciously into the flanks
of his steed ; but the horse, taking it as a decided hint to
mend his pace, instead of diveiging from his accustomed
circle only tore round and round faster and faster, not without
internally wondering that his rider did not, as usual at Astley's,
stand on his back on one leg, and go through the customary
evolutions on such occasions.

It was not long, however, before the unusual whirl of the
circular motion produced a giddiness in the head of the Ex-
quisite, which made it difficult for him to keep on the horse's
back ; he held fast, therefore, by the pummel of the saddle, and
embraced the horse as tightly as possible with his legs and spurs,
but all in vain. The holding on by the pommel, unfortunately
for Snob, brought to the horse's recollection the corresponding
scene in the " Hunted Tailor," — the piece in which he had at-
tained the summit of his equine celebrity! Without delay,
therefore, he proceeded to act up to the character, and com-
menced kicking and plunging with a vigour which had often
called down the rapturous applause of the spectators at Astley's
Theatre. But this last manoeuvre quickly unseated the dismayed
Exquisite ; unaccustomed as he was to such rough-riding, and
amidst the rapturous plaudits of an admiring multitude, he was
violentlydislocated from the horse's back. Regaining his legs with
all the remaining agility which he could muster, the discomfited
Exquisite darted through the ranks of the crowd, who made
way for him with shouts and cheers I

: 0R| THE RICH AND THE POOR. 261

And now the sagacious quadruped, confirmed in his idea, by
his rider's precipitate flight, that it was the drama of the " Hunted
Tailor," that was being enacted, followed Snob closely, while the
mob screamed their delight, and Snob ran for his life, the horse
stimulating his exertions by an occasional snatch at him behind,
as he had been taught by his instructors at the theatre. In
yain Snob knocked him on the nose; the well-trained animal
true to his breeding stuck to him closely ; and the farce might
perhaps have ended tragically for Snob if fortunately taking ad-
vantage of the open door of the club-house he had not rushed in,
out of breath, his hat ofi^, his coat-tails torn by the bites of the
horse^ and his whole person presenting the appearance of fright
in its most perfect state of personification.

As he did this, to his surprise and horror he beheld the lost
Julia I — the witness of his present disgrace I — ^who seeing her
former persecutor rushing towards her with open arms, with
the horse after him^ fled through into the club-house, and
catching sight of a &oe in the dining-room that she knew, threw
herself into Lord Manley's arms, who had just arrived from the
<x>untry, for protection from the double assailment of man and
horse ! The horse — ^albeit that it was a new experiment in his
quadrupedal exploits to ascend stone steps and to enter real
houses — followed the tailor to the last, stimulated by the unceasing
applause of the multitude ; and it was only by jumping over the
dining-room table, with an agility which would have done credit
to the clown of the theatre, that the persecuted Exquisite at
last found refuge from his. tormentor. As there was a basket of
cut bread at the edge of the table, the horse, considering his part
of the performance at an end by the disappearance of the tailor,
proceeded quietly to munch it as his due reward ; and when
Snob ventured to raise his eyes from his hiding-place, to his
dismay and mortification, he saw on one side the terrible horse
looking at him, as he thought, ferociously, while on the other he
beheld Julia lying in Lord Manley's arms, with her eyes closed,
and in a state of tranquil confidence ; which seemed to indicate
not only that the gentleman was well pleased and familiar with
the office, but, to Maximilian's jealous imagination, that the lady
was by no means imaccustomed to the locality, and that she
never could have arrived at that perfect state of ease in her
position without repeated rehearsals !

262 rANNY, THE UTTLE MILLINEB:

CHAPTER XLL

JULIA AMD THE EXQUISITE.

If the frequenters of the house were surprised at the sudden
apparition of a new member^ who had entered the club on all-
fours, without the formality of a ballot^ they were not less amused
when they had leisure to observe the expression of Snob's coun-
tenance, as he regarded Julia in the arms of Lord Manley. The
grimace that he made was so rueful, and so comical withal, that
a general roar of laughter, which even aristocratical politeness
could not at that moment suppress, burst from the group
around ; which, while it exasperated still more the ire of the
jealous and indignant Snob, rather confused Lord Manley, who
could not but be aware of the questionable nature of his position
towards a young lady, who indisputably was exceedingly pretty,
and who had appeared to single out his particular arms as old
acquaintances, to faint in. And Julia, coming to herself, was
not a little astonished at the delicacy of her position, as well as
at the extraordinary appearance of the Honourable Mr. Snob's
visage above the table, and the inquiring looks of the laughing
bystanders. Disengaging herself immediately from Lord Man-
ley's support, who seemed most ungallantly satisfied to be
relieved of the burthen, she stood blushing in confusion at the
strangeness of the place, the presence of so many men, and the
embarrassing novelty of her situation.

One of the members here addressing the rept, with an ex-
pression of the most considerate politeness, suggested the pro-
priety of the company withdrawing; as it was evident, he
ventured to observe, that the business of the lady with Lord
Manley was of a private nature: and this resolution having been
put and carried with mock gravity, the superfluous part of the
company retired, all but Snob, — who not being able to make up
his mind on the instant, in what terms to express to his treache-
rous friend his sense of the baseness of his conduct, remained in
a state of irresolution.

OB, THB BICH AND THB POOR. 263

4€

€€

Ring the bell when you've done," said one of the members ;
giving an impudent look at Julia.

Lord Manley reddened.

'^ Shall you want the horse any more?" asked another of Snob.

Snob looked daggers.

^'Because if you do not, perhaps he had better retire, too."

The horse was accordingly backed out, leaving the three
together.

Each regarded the other for some time in silence : Julia was
too utterly abashed to utter a word ; Lord Manley was at a loss
for the moment what to say, and waited for the lady to explain ;
and Maximilian was too mu6h choked with passion to utter a
word. The lady was the first to recover sufficient self-possession
to speak.

I am quite ashamed " she began.

And so you ought to be!" exclaimed Maximilian, in a
paroxysm of rage, — excited to fury by the cool eflrontery, as he
thought, of Lord Manley, and the audacious confidence ot
Julia; <* and as for you," addressing Lord Manley, "you are a
treacherous scoundrel 1"

Lord Manley received his friend Maximilian's extraordinary
compliment with that amazement with which he was naturally
struck at so unexpected an accusation ; and looking at Snob, —
his disordered dress, his torn coat-tails, and his strange de-
meanour, he conjectured that certainly his friend had lost the
lew wits he ever had; but before he could frame any reply,
Julia continued :

" I am ashamed to have taken such a liberty with your lord-
ship, but I was terrified at that gentleman" she was going to

say, but some feeling restraining her, she said — " that horse ;
but really I did not know what I was doing 1 "

"The lady," interrupted Snob with a forced laugh, "if she did
not seem to know what she was doing" — (looking at Lord Manley
with a sneer) — "seemed to know where she was going."

" Oh ! heavens," cried Julia, clasping her hands ; " I arrived
with mamma from Devonshire only this morning "

"From Devonshire, — and with your mamma!" said Snob;
pronouncing " Devonshire" sneeringly, and laying a particular
emphasis on the word " mamma," as he looked at Lord Manley
with fury !

" Indeed I I did," repeated Julia,— alarmed, she did not know

it

264 FANMT5 THE LITTLE MILLINER:

why, at the manner of the Honourable Maximilian ; and per-
ceiving, with the instinctive readiness of her sex, that there was
something wrong between the gentlemen ; — **I came from Devon-
shire this morning with mamma, and the first thing we did was
to call at Miss Sidney's house "

Lord Manley became immediately much interested

** And we were so dreadfully shocked !** continued Julia ; *' the
first thing that the landlady said when we asked for Fanny was,
that poor Mrs. Sidney was dead !" — ^here poor Julia burst into

tears

Mrs. Sidney dead I" said Maximilian, much surprised.
Fanny's protectress dead I" said Lord Manley, much shocked ;
and how is Fanny ?"

Julia sobbed, and could hardly speak ; — ^^ Mrs. Sidney died

more than a week ago— and Fanny! **

What of Fanny ?" said Lord Manley, eagerly.

Poor Fanny !" — said Julia, continuing to cry and sob

"Poor Fanny 1 — What has happened to her?" said Lord
Manley, impatiently.

"Fanny is gone "

" Gone !— where ? "

*^ Fanny is gone I. "

** Where ? — where ? — where is she gone ?"

" Gone away ! and no one knows what is become of her !^

Lord Manley seized his hat; — " Maximilian, my dear fellow,*'
he said, " I am sure you will take care of Miss Makepeace," — at
the same time handing over the young lady to the bewildered
Exquisite. "Miss Makepeace, my friend Mr. Snob will see
you home : excuse my seeming impoliteness, but I have particu-
lar business in the Lords — on a committee — I am obliged to
attend a Levee — they are expecting me at home; — ^in short, pray
make no ceremony ; you must excuse me for the present — I have
a particular engagement ; I think it is at a public meeting."

So saying, without waiting to hear the further excuses of
Julia, or the requests of Maximilian for an explanation. Lord
Manley made a rapid exit from the house ; and jumping into the
first cab that he saw, desired to be driven as fast as possible to
the house to which he had transported Fanny on that memorable
morning when he first recognised her likeness to the portrait of
the beautiful Italian.

OR, THE KlOir AXD THE POOR. 265

CHAPTER XLII.

CHANGE OF FORTUNE : LORD MANLKY HEARS NEWS OF FANNY ; HIS
ALARM : HE CONSIDERS IT HIS DUTY TO CONTINUE HIS SEARCH.

The bludhing Julia was so embarrassed, and the Honourable '
Maximilian was so astonished, the one at the excessive coolness
of his noble friend in handing over the young lady to his pro-
tection without apology or explanation, and the other at the
suddenness with' which she was transferred — which, although it
was effected withthe aristocratic suavity distinguishing all the
actions of that accomplished young nobleman, was not the less
unflattering to * the lady — that the two remained for some
minutes in sUencc; the pretty Julia with her eyes cast down in
modest confusion, and the perplexed Exquisite with that peculiar
expression of countenance which is gallically and graphically
described as '* un mouton qui r^ve." In the mean time, the
members of the club becoining impatient, one of the servants
was directed-to intimate to the occupants of the dining-room,
in the most delicate manner that he could assume, that, as the
said parties were not members of the club, tHeir further stay
was contrary to the rules of the establishment ; a message wHich
the functionary immediately conveyed without the slightest
hesitation, and with the same tone and manner with which lie
was accustomed to announce that dinner was on table. Thus
brought to bay, the gallantry of the Exquisite, fortunately as it
afterwards proved for himself, prevailed ; and, offering his arm
to Julia, who in her extremity was obliged to accept it, the pair
marched with' much gravity through a double row of members
and servants who lined the passage, Julia, to her infinite morti-
fication, as she passed one of the magnificent mirrors, observing
that her bonnet was bent awry and her curls trailing in lank
disorder ; and the Exquisite with one coat-tail and a hat which
he had snatched from a table in the dining-room, and which
was much too small for him, perched on the top of his head,
endeavouring to swagger and look big as he made his highly
dramatic exit. Nor was it destined that he should escape with-

T

266 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

out a further mortification ; for the rightful owner of the little
hat, perceiving that a petty larceny had been committed of that
indispensable article of dress, peremptorDy claimed the restora-
tion of his property. After a little delay, during which Julia
almost expired with vexation, the Honourable Mr. Snob's beaver
was discovered in a very dilapidated condition under the hall-
table, when, after an impromptu attempt by one of the servanjts
to restore it to something like shape, it was formally presented
to him, and the parties arm-in-arm descended the steps into the
street.

It was then that the extraordinary personal appearance of
her hero became glaringly obvious to Julia as well as to himself,
and not less so to the people in the street, who were not slow
in expressing their opinions by looks and words as to the ludi-
crous spectacle of such apparent masquerading. Julia requested
Maximilian therefore immediately to call a cab, in which she
was glad to hide herself from the observation of the spectators.
Maximilian would have entered after her, but that familiarity
she firmly opposed ; and although the Exquisite thought that it
was by no means necessary to stand on much ceremony with an
impudent minx, as he regarded her, who was so ready to throw
herself into anybody's arms, he was obliged to submit, the more
especially as the bystanders seemed ready to take part with the
lady in the contest.

" Where shall he drive?" asked Maximilian in a rage.

" To the Clarendon Hotel"

'^ To the Clarendon Hotel !"

" Yes : we have left our former residence. Circumstances

have occurred — ^very extraordinary circumstances a relation

whom we did not know of all the property so that we

are now putting up for a few days at the Clarendon, tiD "

JuUa's further communication was stopped by the appearance
of a footman with a decidedly provincial air, and with a livery
of the most gorgeous character, the same being composed of a
bright-green coat with a red waistcoat, forming a brilliant con-
trast to the nether portion of his habiliments, which were of &
flaming yellow colour, surmounting a pair of antediluvian top-
boots; giving, altogether, the idea of a gigantic poll-parrot.
This splendid individual, extricating his head, which was pro-
fusely powdered, from a hat with an enormous cockade in it,
ez^pressed his satisfaction in a broad country dialect at meetingt

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOB. 267

wish his mistress safe and sound in the wicked streets of
Lunnon.

" I was a-looking at they conjurors," he said, ** when I missed
je all in a jiffey like, an' I ha' been a-^seeking ye up and down
the street ever since."

Julia nodded her head with a condescending air to her knight
of the shoulder-knot, and, calling him by the name of " Roger,"
desired him to take his place by the side of the cabman on the
box, and thus escorted she drove off, leaving the Honourable
Maximilian in a state of particular amazement.

** The deuce !" he exclaimed, ** what is the meaning of all
this ? Clarendon ! All the property I By George, I always
thought she was very pretty ! But first I must go home and
adonise. I wonder what has become of my other coat-tail!
However, it's well it's no worse ! Once when that brute of a
horse was snapping at me — confound the wretches that taught

himl — I thought he had nearly Well — let's be thankfiil

that he confined his bites to the coat-tail 1"

With this moral reflection, the Honourable Maximilian called
a cab, and proceeded to the faitiily mansion, his inclination for
Julia having received a powerful impetus from the words which
she had let drop about ^* all the property :" for although the
share of brains which nature had allotted to the Exquisite was
by no means such as to fill his head to an inconvenient extent,
he had wit enough to be aware that, as gilding sets off the finest
picture, so nothing adds more pleasingly to the personal charms
of a woman than a respectable quantity of money.

While this little scene was transacting. Lord Manley endea-
voured, as well as the rattling and gingling of the vehicle would
permit, to arrange his ideas, and to frame some reasonable pre-
text for the excessive anxiety of a young nobleman respecting
the place of abode of a pretty milliner-girl ; but before he could
make up his mind what reason, moral, charitable, or philoso-*
phical, to assign for an inquiry which could not be he felt other-
wise than very suspicious, the cab stopped at the end of the
street, and the driver, reaching his head round to his fare within,
asked, " What number ?"

Lord Manley got out, and, discharging the cab, walked down
the street and knocked at the door of the house at which Fanny
had lodged with Mrs. Sidney.

*^ Who may you please to want ?" asked the landlady, with

T 2

268 FANNT, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

an excessive smile at the prospect of a new lodger for her vacant
first-floor in the very gentlemanlike young man who stood before
her.

Simple as this question was, it happened to be the very one
which was most embarrassing to Lord Manley to answer ; for,
although what he wanted was very clear to himself, and he was
not usually at a loss to find words to express his meaning, he
was puzzled on the present occasion to convey his inquiry in
terms that would neither lead to misconstruction as to his own
motives, nor compromise the reputation of the young lady.
While he was considering his reply the landlady, repeating her
question with a slight variation, relieved him from his difficulty.

" What may you please to want? The house is small, but
it *8 respectable ; and, although I say it myself, the first-floor is
as nice a two rooms as any in the whole street. Perhaps you
would like to see it ?"

Catching at this suggestion. Lord Manley followed the land-
lady up stairs.

" Very comfortable little room," he observed, wishing to pro-
pitiate the lady of the house by that introductory expression of
approbation.

** Little r said the landlady, looking round with an air of
satisfied pride and opening the door of the inner room con-
taining the bed as wide as possible in order to give an air of
greater space to the apartment ; " it 's the largest in the street :
but it *8 so fiill of furniture that it takes off from the size. You
may go into many a house without finding sucn conveniences as-
we have here ; but comfort 's my maxim ; that 's what I study,
sir; — to make my lodgers comfortable. And here they are,
these two beautiftd rooms, for a pound a-week. It *s too low,
I know ; I could get five-and-twenty shillings for 'em any day,
if I would take in persons without good references. But I am
very particular, sir; and always was. None but respectable
characters come to my house ; people that live quiet and genteel ;
moral people, sir, that pay their rent r^ular ; that 's my
maxim."

Lord Manley thought that he might turn the landlady's loqua-
city to account. He sat down. The landlady, as she had a right
to do in her own house, sat down too ; and in a most oblighig
way, intended to make a favourable impression on her pro-
gpective lodger, talked on : —

OB, THB BICH AND THE POOB. 269

*' Yea, sir ; none but respectable persons are ever allowed to be
in my house. Persons may be poor, sir, but still they may be re»-
spectable. That's my maxim. It's not money, sir, as I often say
to Mr. Squeezum when he calls for the taxes — and one can't help
being behindhand sometimes — ^it 's not money that makes people
respectable, but how they conduct themselves : that 's the point,
sir. When a lodger behaves in a quiet, genteel manner, and
doesn't give trouble, and pays his rent regular, though he may

be poor, he is respectable. There was poor Mrs, Sidney

Were you going to say anything, sir ? — There was poor Mrs.
Sidney — a nice lady, that died about— not quite a fortnight ago
— she was poor certainly, but she always paid her rent regular,
and she was a most respectable woman — a lady, sir, who had
seen better days. She died here, sir, poor thing ! She had the
upper rooms of the house ; she and her daugher, poor girl 1
It 's a sad story 1 You have dropped your glove, sir. Poor*
Fanny ! one of the nicest girls, sir, you ever saw ; although it
isn't proper perhaps for me to be talking of nice girls to young
gentlemen. She was in a terrible taking about her poor
mother, and she moped herself to death all alone ; and what has
become of her Heaven only knows. Allow me to pick up your
hat, sir. — Yes, she left me quite suddenly ! Seduced away I

suppose by some of those Shall I open the window, sir?

The room is close from its being shut up. Where all the
quantity of blacks comes from Heaven only knows I I hope you
find yourself better, sir ? This poor girl, as I was saying, left
quite suddenly ; and a particular well-looking girl too she was —
the more the villain as has led her astray I It 's shocking to think
of what the fate of poor girls is in this wicked town I Well, sir,
if this lodging don't suit you there 's no more to be said ; but
you needn't take my old bonnet away with you I Sorry to see
you taken so poorly, sir I The weather certainly is very muggy
for the time of year."

" This young lady, you say," interrupted her visitor, *' went
away suddenly ; have you no clue to the place of her retreat?"

^' Clue ? Oh I I understand. No ; there 's no clue or any-
thing else to know where the girl has been taken to- Poor
thing 1 Besides, I haven't time to attend to other people's affairs.
It was the morning after that old man saw her that she went
away."

'* There was an old man, was there ?"

270 FANNT) THE LITTLS MU^LINSB:

" Yes, sir ; an old man called^ on her — let me see — ^when was
it ? it was on the Tuesday ; and he brought her a letter. Ah !
there 's no end to the mischief of those letters to yoimg ^Is !
This is what comes of readine^ and writing I When I was »

girl "

** He brought a letter you say.*'

*^ Yes, sir ; the old man did I heard him say, as I was out-
side the door, just after he got in— not that I am a listener, sir,
to pry into my lodgers' secrets — I would scorn such an action !—
but I heard him say his name was ^ John Lode.'"

*' John Lode ! Are you sure it was John Lode ? Was
he an old man of very remarkable countenance, almost bald
— rather a determined-looking man ?"

^' Why, as to his being determined, all that I can say is he
was very determined to see the young lady ; — and his face ! it
looked like a piece of a jack-towel before it is ironed to take out
the wrinkles."

"My good lady," said Lord Manley, going away in great
haste, ^' these are the nicest lodgings I ever saw in my life!"
*^ You won't take them then ?"

" Not at present ; just now I am engaged ; and I am very
much pressed for time — I have the honour to wish you good
morning, with many thanks for your obliging information — that
is, your pleasing conversation."

'' ShaU I see you again then," exclaimed the landlady, raising
her voice as Lord Manley rapidly made his exit.

" Very likely — oh, certainly — ^but just now I am really in a

hurry." So saying, he set off at a quick pace up the street.

" Well, to be sure I" said the landlady ; ^* he wasn't in such
a terrible hurry all the while I was a-talking to him about that
young milliner-girl. But now ! There must be something in
it? Perhaps he is the very one? come to see what is said
about her ? Oh 1 the villain 1"

While the worthy landlady indulged in such surmises as to
the object of the strange gentleman's visit. Lord Manley lost no
time in reaching his own house, where he immediately sent for
the Miner. — Fortunately for the relief of his impatience, the old
man was at hand, and presently made his appearance in the
dining-room, where the case containing the picture of the Italian,
which had been taken back from Lady Sarum's, had been
temporarily placed. As the folding doors of the case were open.

OR, THB BICH AND THE POOB* 271

the portrait was visible to the Miner, who^ on beholding it,
uttered an ejaculation of surprise and admiration : —

" Well, did ever man see the like o' that I Why, I declare
if the eyes are not as like as one Davy is like another P

^' You know the lady who resembles that picture ?" asked
Lord Manley.

" I can't say I know her much; but if I didn't see her last
Tuesday, and give her a letter too, I have no eyes of my own-
that 's all I can say."

" You gave her a letter, did you ?" said Lord Manley, in the
most careless and unconcerned way that he could assume,
certain jealous feelings being, in spite of himself, aroused by the
idea of a letter having been the immediate cause of Fanny's elope-
ment ; — " some gentleman I suppose gave you a letter to take
to Miss Sidney ?"

" No gentleman at all, nor lady ne'ther. It was that
rampaging old gal Becky, that was always as crazy "

*' Becky ! who is Becky ?"

** Ah 1 your lordship doesn't know Becky. Wo always
called her Becky. That 's Rebecca."

" A tall, dark, wild-looking woman ?"

" She 's tall enough is Becky ; and dark too; and as wild-
looking as any one would wish to see ; but I have seen her look
wilder than that ; — it 's a good many years ago now."

" But she is mad, is she not ?"

" As mad as a March hare !"

** And the letter— was the letter written by this Rebecca?"

" So she said ; and she asked me to give it to — Francesca —
yes, that 's the name ; and she told me where she lived, and that
I was to ask for a Miss Sidney."

" And what was in the letter ?"

^^ That 's more than I can tell ; but I guess it was something
about Becky's mad freaks ; for the young lady asked me where
the White Woman's Pit was, and how she could get to it. It 's
some wild prank that Becky has got in her head, depend on't.
I hope the poor young lady won't come to any harm. Becky 's
a dangerous woman when her blood 's up and the mad fit 's on
her!"

Lord Manley mused for a few minutes. He called to mind
the strange language of this same woman on the night of the
illuminations. Whether she was mad or not, there was meaning

272 FAKNT, THE LITTLB MILLINEB:

in her words ; and he remembered that she promised Fannjr
that, if she would meet her at the White Woman's Pit, she
woidd ^' tell her aU !" Was it possible that this yoxmg girl had
been tempted by that mysterious promise to undertake a
journey into the north alone and unprotected ! and to expose
herself to the caprices of a madwoman — at a place so dan-
gerous too — where life might so easily be lost by inadvertency
or by the fitful passions of a maniac ! — He shuddered at the
scene which his alarmed fancy pictured of so fearful a meeting 1
Giving way to the powerful impulse of the moment, he rang the
bell, and ordered his travelling-carriage to be immediately pre*
pared for a journey; and, thinking that the Miner would
probably be useful to him in his project, he intimated his desire
that he should accompany him. — But before his departure he
thought it right to call on Lady Sarum, whom he had not seen
since his return to town. He repaired to her ladyship's house
accordingly, desiring that the carriage should take him up there;
To his extreme surprise he found the house in that slight degree
of bustle which, even in aristocratic establishments, necessarily
takes place on the removal of the family ; and on inquiry he wag
informed that Lady Sarum was on the point of leaving London,
with her father and mother, Lord and Lady St Austin, for
Grandborough Castle.

After the first salutations, he was about to express to Lady
Sarum his alarm at the disappearance of Francesca, and his
surmise as to her intentions, when he was forestalled by her
ladyship's communication of Francesca's unaccountable departure
from her lodging.

" She had directed every possible inquiry to be made," her
ladyship said, *' but in vain. However, she had commissioned a
trusty person to continue the investigation as to the cause of the
* poor girl's ' absence, and to communicate to her ultimately any
intelligence as to the place of her concealment."

" The removal of her family from London," her ladyship
added, *' was occasioned by the continued illness of Lord Grand-
borough, and by the expression of his earnest desire to remove
to the castle in the North. With respect to Francesca, had she
been aware of the death of Mrs. Sidney, she should not have
hesitated to take charge of the orphan girl ; but she had sup-
posed that she was residing under sufficient protection, and was
not in want of anv immediate assistance ; and indeed, for reasons

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 273

which she did not consider herself at liberty to disclose to Lord
Manlej, there were considerable difficulties in the way of her
extending the open protection to the girl which she was, from
many considerations, disposed to do ; in short, that the case was
a very embarrassing one for her, but she trusted that the letters
which she expected from Lord Sarum might assist her in coming
to a decision. However," her ladyship repeated, ^^ had she been
aware of the death of Mrs. Sidney, she should not have hesitated
under such circumstances to make some arrangements for poor
Fanny's future welfare ; and she expressed her sincere sorrow to
hear of the disappearance of the girl, as it might be feared that
in her destitute and unprotected state some misfortune might
befall her which would lead to consequences the most painful
and disastrous."

Lord Manley then made known to his friend all that he had
learnt from the landlady of Fanny's lodging and from the Miner ;
and he communicated to her the mysterious words of Bebecca
on the night of the illuminations. This commimication made a
powerful impression on Lady Sarum. He expressed in anxious
terms his alarm for Fanny's safety, and acquainted her ladyship
with his intention to set oflf immediately for the North in order
to protect Miss Sidney, if it should not be too late, from the
danger to which she was exposed.

With this mutual explanation the friends parted ; Lady Sarum
to ruminate on the new food for her sorrow and apprehension, and
Lord Manley to make all haste in his departure, as he was de-
termined to spare no exertion which love and fear could prompt
to overtake the wanderer on her perilous way.

274 TAJXJSY, THE LITTLB MILLINER:

CHAPTER XLIIL

fanny's piLaniMAOB: hopes confirmed: dreams and omens.

In the mean time the object of the anxieties and the fears of
Lady Sarum and of Lord Manley continued her venturesome
journey to the North of England, where the mysterious spot
was situate at which the madwoman had promised to reveal the
secret of her birth and of her parents. As in these modem times
there are neither dragons nor enchantments to be encountered
on the queen's highway, Fanny met with no other inconveni-
ences than those which are unavoidable when a young and
beautiful girl ventures to travel alone by the mail-coach. In
due time she arrived at the White Bull, the hostelry of the
well-known village of Sandy Flats, to which the Miner had
directed her as the nearest house of entertainment to the moor^
which stretched for some distance in the neighbourhood of
Grandborough Castle.

The worthy landlady was considerably advanced in years
since her first introduction to the reader. Two important events
had occurred since that time, namely, the loss of a first husband
and the acquisition of a second; the latter calamity being, as
Mrs. Whiley, now Mrs. Blarney O'Flagon, sometimes deplored,
" by a long measure the greater evil of the two." But the man^
as she observed, " had such a tongue I and he was so Jknowing
in horseflesh, that she didn't know how it was, she found herself
Mrs. O'Flagon all in a hurry like, bjefore she well knew whether
she stood on her head or her heels !" • With respect to that
insinuating individual, neither years nor accidents seemed to
produce any other change in him than to increase his extraordi-
nary capacity for drinking ale at all times, and brandy when he
could get it ; the latter liquor being his preferable drink, as
being more consonant with the rank and pretensions of a gen-
tleman " who had had the honour of serving the king in one of
his Majesty's troops of horse."

It was at this inn that Fanny alighted with the intention of
remaining till the following evening, when the moon would be

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOB. 275^

fit full, the lime prescribed by Rebecca for meeting her at the
Pit* To her request for a bedroom to which she might retire,
the landlady, seeing that she was alone and with an exceedingly
small quantity of luggage, returned the very natural question :

** Certainly, miss. And pray, miss, where may you be
going ? Is any one to meet you here, miss ?^

" No," replied Fanny, in her mild clear voice ; ** I am alone ;
but I wish to remain here — a day or two perhaps — till I have
paid a visit in the neighbourhood."

'^ And you are quite alone ?" responded the landlady, much
astonished to see a young lady of Fanny's striking appearance
imattended, and unexpecting any friend, male or female, to
meet her.

*^ I am quite alone," repeated Fanny, in a tone which was
intended to preclude further questioning that point.

" Very odd I" said the landlady, as she entered her little
back parlour, and addressing her observation to her husband,
who was engaged with a quiet glass of ale at the back window*
*' Here 's. a young lady come down quite alone, and wants to
stop here a day or two ; and she says she is going to pay a visit
in the neighboui:hood ; who- can it be to? There are not many
houses to visit when you get out of the village, and it can't be
in the village that she is going to pay her visit, or she would go
to Uie house at once, and wouldn't talk of stopping here a day
or two. What can be the meaning of it ?"

'^ What sort of a gal is she?" asked the present husband and
late trooper, as he took a luxurious suck at his ale in a tall
glass expressly formed for prolonging the delectation of the
gullet in imbibing the generous liquor.

" A great deal too handsome to be scurrying over the country
without any one to take care of her. It 's not proper for yoimg
girls to go about by themselves this way. Her parents ought
to be ashamed of themselves."

^* Handsome, is she ?" said the trooper*landlord ; ** and no
one to take care of her ! Perhaps she 's a governess ; and that 's
not as good as a lady's-maid any day, and she doesn't get as
good pay neither. But as she 's alone it 's my duty to wait on

her of course. I '11 just finish this glass of ale "

" Indeed, Mr. O'Flagon, you '11 do no such thing 1 You 're
a great deal too fond of waiting on every goodlooking gal that
comes to the house ; and I tell you what, Mr. Blarney, if you

276 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEB ;

don't Bless me! who is that coming up to the door? I

declare if it isn't our old Bob ! with his mouth open, of course ;
be never did shut it, and never will; but I suppose the Sarums
find him useful among the horses. I wonder what brings him
down here?"

The cause of his coming was presently explained by Bob
himself, who informed the landlady that Lord Grandborough's
family were coming down to the castle, and that he had come
so far out of his way in order to pay his respects to his old
mistress.

*^ And to have a taste of the old ale. Bob, eh ? Well, boy^
you shan't be disappointed. I dare say you will find Blarney
ready to join you. I never knew him behindhand that way at
any time."

Mr. O'Flagon was pleased to receive Lord Sarum's groom
with much urbanity, bearing towards him those feelings of good-
fellowship which a community of taste and skill in horses usually
engenders ; and the two sat down together to discuss with their
ale the news of the town and the gossip of the country.

Li the mean time the evening drew in, and, the heart of the
goodnatured landlady being touched with the lonesomeness of the
young lady in her solitary chamber, she invited her to take her
tea in a private room adjoining the parlour where her husband
and her ci-devant ostler's-helper were sitting over their ale ; so
that she could effect the double purpose of showing kindly
attention to the stranger and of keeping her eye on the affairs
of the house, and especially on her husband.

As Fanny was desirous of obtaining information of the neigh-
bourhood, and of the precise spot which it was her object to visit
on the ensuing night, she readily assented to this proposition,
and in a few minutes Mrs. O'Flagon and her guest were seated
at tea in the little green room, not exposed to the observation
of the men, but within hearing of their conversation. Fanny
had no desire to listen to their mutual relations of the exploits
of horses on various occasions, but her attention became sud-*
denly attracted by a vehement exclamation of Mr. O'Flagon : —

^' Captain Makepeace's horse ! I tell you what. Bob ; Captaiii
Makepeace was as gentlemanlike a soldier as ever put foot in
stirrup ; but his Arabian, as he called him, was no more to be
compared with old Square-nose — he is dead and gone now,
rest his honest poul — than small beer is like this ale ! Bless

OR, THE BICU AND XHB POOR: 277-'

you ! he was all very well for a spurt ; but for downr^ht honest
work give me old Square-nose ; if there 's another like him,
which there is ^ not, and never will be. That horse could do
everything but speak ; and he would drink ale like a Christian I
Ah I he's gone now," sorrowfully apostrophised the ancient trooper,
shaking his head from side to side, and endeavouring to stifle
his grief by a more potent draught of ale, '^ and when shall we
see the like of him again ? Poor Square-nose ! that was an
unlucky night for you at any rate r

" He gotfoimdered, didn't he, taking that stone-wall with the
ditch on the tother side of it ?"

"Dead shoulder-foundered I — he neyer got over it. You
see, the groimd was covered with snow, and that made the ditch
on the other side look as if it was level— though the moon was
shining brightly too — ^but I was dizzy with the cold, and so I
and poor old Square-nose came down together. Ah I it was a
bad job that night for more than him, poor fellow I It 's many
years ago now, but I remember it as if it was yesterday ; that*
is, parts of it — for my fell confused my head a good deal "

** Your head was confused with something more than your
£sill, my dear," exclaimed the landlady, not being able to refrain
from the very palpable hit that was open to her in respect to the
asncient propensity of her husband for the ale and brandy of the
White Bull;—" you don't remember perhaps "

** Bless your sweet heart, my darling I" returned her spouse ;
^ you should never hear what was never intended for you. But
I dare say you remember that night, though it is a long while
ago. The whole country was up in riots you know."

** I remember it well ; and how near poor Lord Sarum was
losing his life from the violence of those wicked conspirators at
the Bam. It was a fearful nighty that night I we shall never
forget it in these parts I"

** I was there," said Bob, " at the time that Lord Sarum went
down into the Pit after the woman that was dashed to pieces."

" Did you ever hear tell," asked the landlady, " at Lord
Sarum's, where you have* been living, if any tidings was ever
heard of the child that was lost ?"

" CHi ! you mean the child that Matthew the woodman saved
from the Pit?.. .No, I never heard anything about it: it seems
aU forgotten now. But I met John the Miner — you remem-
Ber John the Miner ?"

278 PANNT, THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

*• What, he that went down the Pit with Lord Sarum 7"

'^ That "a the man ! I met him ; and he ssud he had met one
of those that were concerned that night whom he never thought
to see again.''

" And who was that ?"

** Don't you remember," pursued Bob, " the woman that was
married to Black Will's brother? They say she had been a
pretty girl in her time. Sure you must remember Bebecca,
that was crazy at times "

** Yes, I remember; but what of her?"

" Well, the Miner said he met her in the streets of London,
and she was madder than ever, and talked frantic against Lord
Crrandborough and Lord Sarum."

" Ah I the old grudge. It was Lord Crrandborough, they say,
who had her husband transported for poaching."

'^ WeU, the Miner said she was rampaging about the streets
like mad, and she talked quite furious against all the family,
and blew him up, and all of us besides, and me particularly, for
letting the gold cross go out of my hands. You don't remem-
ber, mistress, because you were not there, that I found a gold
cross at the edge of the Pit after all the people were gone, and
that young chap, Edward Lacey, came up and somehow
took it away from me* I was young at the time then, or I
should not have been such a fool as to give it up. It was a
valuable cross too; very curiously worked and carved;— gold
I'm sure. It was a green trick of me to b'e done out of it so
nicely, for I might as well have had it as another."

Fanny had remained silent during this conversation. All her
faculties were entranced in the absorbing interest of the revela-
tions which were thus so suddenly and so strangely made;
but at the mention of the cross which she had so long cherished,
with the religious hope that it would be the means of leading
to the discovery of her parents, she could restrain herself no
longer, and, almost breathless with hope, and with a palpitation
of the heart which hardly allowed her to give utterance to her
words, she started from her seat, and, to the extreme astonish*
ment of the landlady, she approached the man who had claimed
the first discovery of her relic, and, holding it up before him,
said, —

" Is this the cross that you found on that fatal night ?"

The amazed Bob, albeit that for a long seines of years he had

OB, THE KICH AND THE POOB. t79

been accustomed to open his mouth on aU occasions, at the sight
of this apparition opened it wider than ever, and it was some
time before he could sufficiently collect his senses to reply. He
stared at the cross, and he gazed at the vision of the beautiful
being before him, and, as he afterwards declared in a confiden-
tial communication to the landlady, her eyes appeared to him
like two suira so wonderfully bright and piercing that he was
positively blinded by their light I It was with fear and trem-
bling that he ventured to take the cross in his hand, and, after a
short examination, recognising the treasure which in former
years had made so vivid an impression on his senses, he tried to
speak; but the eyes being still upon him, searching into his
very soul, and the excited countenance of the girl appalling him,
he could not speak, but signified his recognition of it by a nod
of his head, assisting that evolution by a professional grasp of
his forelock, which caused him to make a deeper reverence at
once to the cross and to the lady«

'^ Is this the cross ?" repeated Fanny, anxious to obtain still
more certitude of its identity. ** I conjure you, my good man,
to speak; I have a powerful reason to be informed if this really
18 the cross that was foimd at the brink of the White Woman's
Fit. Speak, man, and tell me I"

" It is," at last jerked out Bob, driven to desperation by
the earnest energy of the speaker ; ^^ and it was Ned Lacey and
Matthew the woodman who got it away from me : — ^but that 'a
all I know about it."

** And what became of this Ned Lacey ?" asked Fanny.

" Nobody knows," interposed the landlady. " You see, miss.
Lord Sarum, who had an excellent heart, took care of the child
for a while — at least so it was said ; but very suddenly Lacey
disappeared from the country ; — ^there was a reason for it, people
i^ay," she added, looking at her husband, who in deference to the
young lady had doffed the trooper's cap which he had insisted
on wearing, notwithstanding its incongruity with the character
of a landlord of an inn ; — '^ the affair of the Bam, you know.
Blarney ; — ^but no need to speak ill of people that are not here
to defend themselves. However, the truth is, that young Lacey
fled the country — it's now — how long is it ? — sixteen years ago
come Christmas — ^and he has never been heard of since. Some
say he went to America."

5* Did he leave the country alone ?" asked Fanny, a sudden

280 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEB :

light breaking in on her as she connected the circumstances and
the dates rapidly in her mind.

*' His mother left the country with him, I know," said the
landlady, *^ because it was the talk at the time. But, bless me !
how very odd it is, miss, that you should possess this very cross,
that was lost and found so strangely ; and now it 's found again.
And let me see — sixteen years ago, and you can't be more than a
year or so older, I take it ; no offence, miss, I hope, — but that
story made a great noise in the country at the time. — Sure!
can you be the child that Ned Lacey saved from the Pit on that
terrible night? Did you know Ned Lacey, miss?

Fanny pondered for a while at this question. She remembered
that the captain of the vessel which was wrecked on the coast of
America had communicated to Mrs. Sidney that the young man
who, with his mother, had the charge of her on board, had been
used to assert in his expressions of fondness towards her that he
had saved her life I All the circumstances tallied. It seemed
certain that she was the child saved from a dreadful death on
that fatal night; that the Edward Lacey of whom they spoke
was her preserver ; and that the cross which she wore was the
same which was found by the side of the Pit, and dropped, as
was conjectured, by the woman who was supposed to be her
mother ! But the strange woman who was acquainted with her
story had told her that the woman who was lost was not her
mother 1 Giving utterance to the thought that was uppermost
in her mind, she hastily asked the landlady : —

" Did you know a wild, fierce-looking woman called Re-
becca ?"

** Know her !" replied the landlady ; *' all the country knew her.
She was a good and a happy woman once ; but troubles and mis-
fortunes turned her brain. She lost her husband and her chil-
dren, and she used to wafidcr about the country a poor mad-
woman I but she has not been seen in these parts for many
years."

" It was crazy Becky," said Bob, *' who took the child out of
Ned Lacey's arms when he was drawn up from the Pit, and she
carried the little thing to Ned Lacey's mother — to the cottage —
hard by Matthew's — I saw it myself. Do you think I don't
know Becky ? I know her face as well as I fcnow any horse's in
the stable —not that I would think of comparing any one of
master's horses to that awful woman ! it is enough to frighten a
horse to see her."

OB, TH£ RICH AKD TBE POOR. 281

*' Then," thought Fanny, " that woman, let her be mad or not,
has epoken truth ! Aud the sight of me seemed to touch her, and
to call forth better feelings than those which madness often
prompts 1 And she promised that, if I had courage to meet her
at the White Woman's Pit at the full of the moon, she would
tell me who were my parents I I will meet her there, mad though
she is I Why should she hurt me ? I never harmed her. She
said she held me in her arms, and called herself my second
mother! No: a woman will never harm the child for whom
she has cherished such feelings of motherly tenderness. Come
what may, I will meet her there I"

With this mental resolve, after making such inquiries about
the distance and the locality of the White Woman's Pit ae would
enable her to find the spot at night, the wearied wanderer re-
tired to rest. Her excited fimcy continuing its exercise in her
troubled sleep, all sorts of misty pictures of times past and times
to come presented themselves to her half-suspended faculties.
She dreamed that she stood at the bottom of a dark abyss, and
made frantic and vain efforts to extricate herself from its horrible
solitude. Anon she found herself on the top of a high mountain,
looking down its precipitous depths, into which some supernatural
power seemed fatally to propel her. Presently she found herself
alone on a dreary plain ; no house, no tree, no shrub was near ;
all was one continuous and wide waste, barren and desolate*
She was faint and weary; her breath became oppressed; her
steps were fedtering; she was ready to sink with fidntness and
fettigue; when suddenly in the far distance she beheld the
shadows of a manly brow, noble but sorrowful, and the mysteri-
ous outlines of a woman praying by the side of a marble tomb,
with her hands clasped and her head thrown back as if imploring
mercy or aid from Heaven. Her heart told her that her eyes
looked on the resemblances of her father and her mother. But,
as she gazed, clouds gathered and darkness came over them.
They Vanished ; and in their stead appeared a white and brilliant
star, which seemed set there to guide her on her way. As she
felt the bright effiilgence of the light warming her to fresh hope
and exertion, she awoke, and beheld the morning sun shining
brightly in at her rustic window. Accepting the omen, she
kneeled down by the side of her bed, and prayed to that Being
from whom alone she could hope for aid to assist her weakness
and to guide her steps in her sacred endeavour to discover her

u

282 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEB :

unknown but long-loved parents. Then, with her energies re-
stored by deep, and her spirit refreshed by prayer, she prepared
her thoughts and gathered up her courage for the fearful task of
the coming night.

In the mean time events were preparing in another quarter of
vital importance to her future fate.

CHAPTER XLIV.

AK exile's RETUKN : D18COUBSB OF THE LAB0UBBR8 : MODBBN VEBSION

OF AN OLD BTOBT.

It was a bright May morning when the fuU time of spring
gives promise of the approaching sununer. The shrubs and flowers
hastened to put forth their blossoms to the enlivening rays of
the cheerM sun^ and all nature seemed gay and glad, rejoicing
in the genial season. At such a time it was impossible for the
coldest heart not to feel warmed into admiration of the beautiful
works of nature ; the majestic trees^ the odoriferous shrubs, the
many-tinted flowers, the mild green of the velvet sward, on
which the eye loves to repose ; all so wondrous fair, and in-
spiring love and gratitude for Him who made the earth so
beautiful for man to dwell on !

It was with such thoughts that a traveller went on his glad-
some way by the road on the opposite side of the moor £rom the
little village of Sandy Flats, and in the direction of Grandbo-
rough Castle. He was mounted on a strong and handsome
horse5 having a vaUse strapped to the pommel of his saddle,
betokening the vigorous habits of the rider^ and his preference
for that independent mode of conveyance which a stout steed
and a small saddle-bag enable the traveller to enjoy.

The traveller was tall and thin, with a military air; and as
he sat on his horse with the ease and the perfect confldence of
command, it was easy to guess that his flnished equitation was
incident to his profession. His features, reflective and care-
worn — denoting that his occupations had been such as to call
forth in painful stretch the energies of the mind as well as the
activity of the body — were sunburnt, as if from constant ex-
posure to the scorching climes of the East ; but on the whole
his countenance was decidedly handsome^ although an occasional

..<

OB, THE BICH AND THE POOB, 283

expression of sternness led the observer to conclude that he
was one who was not to be offended with impunity. With
respect to his age, it. might be about six-and-thirty ; he looked
older in his more serious moods, but when his face was bright-
ened up with smiles he perhaps looked younger. As the birds,
welcoming the morning, cheered his heart with their songs, the
trayeller smiled and looked around him as if trying to remember
Bome long-forgotten scenery ; and then he would quicken his
horse's pace to a brisker walk, while his countenance assumed
by turns the expression of cheerfulness or melancholy as his
animal spirits were invigorated by the freshness of the morning,
or as his thoughts became saddened by some sorrowful remem-
Ixranoe. In this way he proceeded leisurely till he reached the
Bitle house of entertainment on the right, before you turn off
6om the high road to the moor, the margin of which it touched.
Here he drew up to refresh his horse and to secure for him the
pFOvender which it was not likely that he should find at the
pilule of his destination. Having first seen his horse well cared

• fer in the stable, he entered the place of entertainment.

• The rustic inn contained only one apartment for visitors,
irllich was nearly full of labourers at their mid-day meal They
itiadie a slight movement, at first, on the entrance of a gentleman

• fliaiong them ; but presently they resumed their usual apathetic
tfnd sullen demeanour, seeming to take no heed of the presence
of a stranger gentle or simple.
' Tte new-comer surveyed them with interest, examining the

' jt^tftures of eadb individually, and with a rigidness of scrutiny
which at last gave umbrage to a rough-looking, wrinkle-faced
hbourer who was listlessly cutting a piece of coarse bread with
a clasp-knife, to which was added, as a condiment, a very small
piece of cheese of the colour and consistence of bees'-wax, or
rather of that peculiar conformation which in another county
has gained for it the appellation of Suffolk Bang, and which the
natives of those parts further designate as a material ^^ too big
to swallow and too hard to bite.'*

'* Some folks," said he, as he sharpened the huge blade of his
knife on the rind of his cheese, ** have very curious eyes ; there
beant much to see ne'ther,"

To the meaning which this speech conveyed the rest of the
labourers responded by a grunt, signifying their acquiescence
in the hint and the sarcasm of their fellow.

u 2

284 FANNT, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

. The traveller relinquished his scrutiny ; and, with the view
of opening some amicable conversation with the rustics, he
observed : —

*' This beautiful morning, my friends, must make all your
hearts feel glad. The sun shines on the rich and on the poor
alike ; that 's some comfort in this world of ours.''

The labourers, suspending their chewing^ turned their eyes
on the stranger with a simultaneous stare. That any one should
talk to them of their hearts being glad, was to them altogether
as utiaccountable as the thing was inconceivable I and as to the
sun shining — whether the sun shone or not, what was it to
them? The sun might shine, ,but the sunshine of the heart was
a thing they never felt. Did the shining of the sun make their
labour less, or their enjoyment more? If it ripened more
plentifully the firuits of the earth, it was not for them that the
fruits of the earth were ripened. It was ioft them to toil and
sow and exhaust their animal energies in constant labour, but
it was for others to reap and to revel in its produce. What were
they? Labourers. What are labourers? Human machines
for the production of wealth ; to be used like other machines,
animate x>r inanimate, at the minimum of cost ; to be worked
while they last, and to be flung aside like rusty iron and useless
logs when they are fit to work no longer. Their hearts fed
glad ! Glad for what ? That they produced more wealth for
the rich ? What was it to them that the rich got richer while
the poor got poorer ? Did they share in the prosperity of the
nation which they had heard the squires talk of ? What were
all the arts and improvements of civilization to theni? They
could not reason, but they felt that as .civilization increased their
condition got worse. The wonderful inventions of machinery,
which they beheld but could not prize, what was it to them ?
Did it cause them to labour less? They hated it, because they
felt that, instead of being made the means of lightening their
labour, it was used in competition against their labour^ pitting
wood and iron against muscle and bone ; and that it was held
out to them in the way of defiance when they complained of
the insufficiency of their wages. — They would have welcomed
it as an auxiliary ; they abhorred it as a rival — As to the edu-
cation of which their superiors made a parade — what Was the
use of it to them ? To teach them new wants ; to make their
present miseries more miserable, their galling burthens more
intolerable I What time had the^y for the improvement of their

OB, TH£ BICH AND TH^ POOB. 285

minds? It was more than they could do to attend to the wants
of their bodies. And5 after the exhausting toil of the day, what
strength had they left for the exercise of their intellectual
faculties ? Where was the time ? What they imperatively re-
quired after the labours of the day was rest ; rest for the over-
wrought limbs and the overtasked strength. What they wanted
was sufficient food, sufficient raiment, and fitting shelter from
the elements ; and, above all, leisure. Without the leisure to
pursue their mental culture, and to enjoy the results of it, what
was the use to them of what is called ^^ education'' ? It is of
more importance for a man to have bread to eat than to kno^
how to spell it I To talk of geography, and astronomy, and of
scientific recreations, and books, and music, to a population in
want of the primary articles of subsistence, is a mockery which
the labourers feel to be a mockery, although they do not always
express it. Not that they despise the benefits of education ;
but, when they cry out for food, to offer them *^ education" is
to give them a stone when they ask for bread. The only effect
of what has been called ^' education" hitherto has been to enable
a great many more of the discontented population to read cheap
newspapers than could read them before ; to teach them the
power of combination ; to excite them to array their numbers
against intelligence ; and to look for the improvement of their
own condition in the pulling down of the rich to their own
destitution and degradation. Sad and fatal delusion I which
may one day lead to a more violent and terrible revolution than
has ever devastated empires, and which would be indeed a
terrible lesson of retributive justice on the hardheartedness
and selfishness of the age I

It was amongst such a discontented group that the traveller
found himself. He knew well that excessive toil, insufficient food,
the precariousness of subsistence, and the lack of the sympathy of
the rich, had soured their natures and brutified their very souls.
But it seemed that he was not imaware of the way of gaining
the hearts of the hard rustics, for hearts they had, though good-
feeling was almost smothered and deadened within them from
the long-continued and excessive debasement of poverty. Call-
ing the landlord, he ordered a " gallon of beer."

These magic words operated Mke a charm on the visages of
the rustics. Each man flourished his knife, and, postponing the
finishing of their crusts, they looked out with glee for the promised
cheer. The demand of their entertainei^or something substan-

286 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER

tial in the way of eatables increased the general complacency ;
and when the stranger drew his chair to the table and invited
them by his example to partake of the good things before them,
there was a murmur of satisfaction, and grim smiles greeted
the presence of the stranger gentleman ; for dearly do the sons
of labour love to see those whom the accidents of fortune have
made their superiors place themselves among them and acknow-
ledge the general kindred of mankind by the interchange of
kindliness in a state of even temporary equality. It was not
long, therefore, before the traveller had so far advanced in their
good opinions as to lead them into confidential conversation.

" What we want,*' said an elderly man, taking an excessive
pull at the jug of ale, which obliged him to make a little pause
to recover breath for his oration — ** what we want is this : if so
be a man is willing to work^ the rich folks ought to find it for
him. For what can he do ? he can't make work for himself.
The rich have got all the land and all the money, and the poor
man has nothing but his hands for his property. And then I
say, if the poor man can't get work, the rich folks oughtn't to
shut him up in a workus like agaol, as if he was to be punished
for being poor; — ^that 's what I say."

*' The gentlefolks don't understand us, sir," said a fine young
man, with a countenance saddened with the early anxieties for
that great object of the constant thought of ike poor from
childhood — ^their daily food : " they don't understand us, sir ;
they don't indeed ! They fancy that we poor people like to go
to the workhouse, and that 's why, I suppose, they have made
it so bad for us. Bless your heart, sir I there 's not a labouring
man in the county, nor woman, nor child, that would take to
the workhouse if they could keep out of it. Not because the
workhouse has been made a gaol of — it 's not that ; but because
it 's a sort of disgrace with us to go there. Poor people, sir,
have their pride as well as rich gentlemen; and their pride
is to earn their bread by their labour, and to owe no man a
farthing, and not to eat the bread of charity. It 's bitter bread,
sir, is that to us, let it be ever so kindly given ; but when we
have to seek for it besides in a way that is made as degrading to
us as possible, and are treated more like felons in a prison than
free men, why, sir, that is what galls us ! It 's a pity, sir, that
the rich gentlemen can't understand us better. Live and let
live ; that 's all we want."

«' That 's the mischief," added another rustic : " George

OB, THS RICH AND THS FOOB. 287

Steadman has just hit it right. What we feel most, sir, is that
it is made a crime to be poor. And how can we help bein^:
poor ? we were bom poor,%md we Uve poor, and we musTZ
poor; for onr wages is only just enough to keep body and soul
together. And then, if we fall sick, or can't get work, the great
folks treat us like criminals, as if it was a un to want work and
food, and as if we could help it ! It 'a a shame I say P

^' It 's a shame, and a bumimr shame I" repeated the younfic
man who had spoken beforeT^d nund myTorda, Bir;-yo«
are a gentleman, and it seems a kind gentleman too, for you
don't disdain to sit down with us and own us for fellow-crea-
tures ; — ^mark my words, sir : if there is an outbreak in this
country like that French Bevolution which I have read of in the
newspapers, when the working people got their rights, it wiU be
on account of these workhouses and the cruel poor-laws, which
grind us down to the earth, and treat us worse than the animals
that graze in the fields."

^^ Worse than the hounds in the squire's park," said another.

** Yes, worse than dogs ; but it won't be borne much longer,
I can tell 'em."

^^ Eh, John I" said the elderly man, with a knowing look at
the speaker, and glanciftg his eyes in caution at the stranger —
''the gentleman don't want to hear that talk; time enough
when it comes."

'^ I remember," said the stranger, wishing to lead the labour-
ers into conversation about the events of former times, ''there
were riots hereabouts — it must be a good many years ago now ;

something relating to. Is there a fiunily of the name of

Grandborough in these parts ?"

*' Aye, aye," said the young man ; " that 's the Earl of Grand-
borough : the family mansion is the castle about five miles from
here ; and there 's his son. Lord Sarum ; they're the lords and
rulers in their neighbourhood. There was a grand riot years
ago ; I was only a child then, but I've heard &ther and mother
speak of it."

" It was the time of the great snow-storm," said the elderly
labourer. I wasn't here at the time, because I'm only new in
the county, but I've heard tell of it ; the people talk of the
White Woman to this day."

" And pray," asked the stranger, " who is the White
Woman ?"

'' You're a stranger to these parts, I suppose, and so you

288 FANNT, THE LITTLE MILLIIf «B :

don't know the story," replied the old man, " You see how the
moor stretches out yonder ? Well, about two miles firom here
there 's an old Pit."

" Ah !" said the stranger, apparently thrown off his guard by
the interest he took in the rustic's narration ; ^^that 's the White
Woman's Pit, near the hut of Matthew the woodman."

The labourers stared at the stranger at this display of local
knowledge, and looked at one another inquiringly, and at the
stranger with vague feelings of suspicion; but, quickly re*
covering his presence of mind, he encouraged the story-'teller ta
proceed by adding, promptly : —

" You said that this place called the White Woman's Pit
was close to the hut of Matthew the woodman "

** Did I ?" said the labourer. '* Well, I thought it was odd
that you should have the name so pat and know the place so
welL As I was saying, the Pit is haunted by a woman — that
is, by her spirit, I suppose — ^that the father of the present earl
wronged in some way out of her land, and — ^I don't know the
rights of that story, but people do say that Lord Sarum — ^that 's
the son of the earl — met her at the Pit that night, and sha
dragged him down, and it was Matthew the woodman that
saved his life, with a young man — a daring young chap, they
say, called Ned Lacey "

^' He was a daring young chap, was he ?" said the stranger.

" As ever you set your eyes on. Well, this Ned Lacey
found a great treasure at the bottom of the Pit "

** No, no," interposed the elderly rustic," that wasn't it at alL
Ned Lacey found no treasure. You see, sir, young Ned was a
fine young fellow, and he was heart and soul in the labourers'
cause ; and so you see — ^it 's best not to talk of these things, sir,
more than we can help ; but the long and the short of it is, that
poor Ned was obliged to fly the country, for the warrants were
out against him, and if the beaks had grabbed him, why, he
stood a good chance of being lagged."

" That was for the affidr of the Bam, I suppose ?" said th§
stranger, again thrown off his guard.

** You know it then?" said the labourer eagerly.

*^ I remember reading of it in the newspapers," replied the
stranger. " And this Matthew the woodman— is he still alive ?''

** Yes, he 's alive ; but he 's a very old man now ; and he 's
very badly off too, poor Matthew ! You see, sir, he is very
violent in his talk against the rich......"

OB, THE BICH AKB THE POOB. 289

^' Mat turned radical I" exclaimed the stranger in astonish-
ment. «

" You see, sir," said the young man who had already spoken,
** it *8 the poor-laws that have turned Mat. He was always
Against us — that is, against our meetings ; and he would always
try to put down any talk of violence or riots, or that. But
now he 's quite the other way ; and it 's the poor-laws that have
done it. So much the better ; it is those poor-laws that will
bind us together all the stronger. There 's the rich on one side,
mad the poor on the other ; and if the poor make the rich un-
easy some day^ let them thank the poor-laws for it."

** is Matthew still living at his old cottage ?" asked the
stranger.

^* Yes ; he 's there stilL You 11 be sure to find him there,"
said the old man of the party ; *^ but, if it 's no offence to say
BO, master, I 'm^ thinking you know more of these parts and of
old Mat than you choose to say. However, it 's none of our
business ; and we hope that what we have said before you will
-be taken in good part, and not taken advantage of to harm any
one of us ; for we thought you were with us in your thoughts
about things, or we never should have spoken so freely."

** And so I am with you, my friends," exclaimed the stranger
with animation; ^^ heart and soul with you; but I have seen
much of the world, and I have learnt that nothing is to be done
ioT jour cause by violence."

** How are we to get our rights then ?" asked the yoimg
labourer, emboldened by the stranger's familiarity and declara-
tions.

The traveller paused for a few moments, as if he was either
•searching for the means, or deliberating on the prudence of
^communicating it to his auditors. At last he said, speaking
«lowly and deliberately :—

** My friends, you are not yet suflSciently informed, I fear,
to understand rightly the full meaning of my words ; but as I
have denounced violence, I am bound perhaps to point out an-
other way of gaining your end "

** Our end," interrupted the young labourer, emphatically,
** is a fair day's wages for a fair day's work."

" And that you will never attain," said tte stranger, " except
by * association.' "

So saying, he took leave of his new acquaintances, and,
having assisted personally in the saddling of his horse, and

290 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEB:

proyiding himself abundantly with the best refreshments that
the inn afforded, he mounted, and rode off over the moor in the
direction of the woodman's cottage.

CHAPTER XLV.

A VISIT TO OLD FRIBND8 : THB 8UBFBISB : BXPLANATIONS : BBCIFB FOR
CHANGING A LOTAL FEA6ANTBT INTO DISCONTENTBD BBVOLUTION-
ISTS : THB WHITE WOMAn's PIT.

The traveller checked his horse frequently, that he might
examine more leisurely, as it seemed, some familiar object ; and
at a short distance from the woodman's hut he made a longer
pause, gazing earnestly at the dilapidated walls of a rustic
cottage which was now uninhabited and falling rapidly into
ruins. From the varied emotions which might be traced on the
countenance of the stranger, it might be guessed that the sight
of this ruined cottage called forth many chequered remembrances
of joy and sorrow.

" It is only sixteen years ago," he said, musingly, to himself:
^' the old moor looks as if I had left it only yesterday ; but the
works of man's hand are already in decay. But there is old
Matthew's hut looking the same as, ever, except that the roof is
a little out of order. I wonder if he will remember me." So
saying, he turned his horse's head towards the well-known spot^
and with a stick which he carried in his hand tapped at the old
door.

After a brief delay the upper half was slowly opened by an
aged female whom the traveller had no difficulty in recognising
as the Margaret of former days. Seeing a gentleman on horse-
back who was a stranger, she made the usual inquiry in the
North: —

" What's your will, sir?"

*' Pray," asked the stranger, *^does one Matthew the wood-
man reside in this cottage ?"

" Matthew," said the dame, turning her face inwards, ** here 's
a gentleman asking for you."

'' Asking for me ?" said Matthew, coming forward and lean-
ing on the closed half of the door, while his wife retired behind ;
^^what can any gentleman want with me? I've no business

OB^ THE BICH AND THE POOB. 291

with any gentleman. Is it justice's business ? Well— well — a
gaol is as good as a workhouse nowadays !"

" My good friend/' said the traveller, who had overheata
Matthew's objurgation of gentlemen and justices^ " I have no-
thing to do with justices. I am a traveller^ and I want to make
some inquiries about the land and the people and the neigh-
bourhood ; and if you can let me sit down in your cottage for a
short time, I should be glad to have a little chat with you."

" A stranger is always welcome," replied the old man, open-
ing the door ; " but if you are looking for refreshment, you will
find us badly off that way."

" I am already provided with that," said the horseman, dis-
mounting and disencumbering himself of the provisions which
he had procured at the inn. Margaret received them from him
and placed them on the table against the wall ; and the traveller,
having loosened his horse's girths and seciu*ed him by the bridle
to the front of the hut and in view from the window, entered
the cott£^e.

No one spoke for some time; the aged couple keeping silence
from respect to the gentleman, and the stranger being occupied
in examining with extreme attention every article in the room,
and then turning his eyes on Matthew, whose features he scru-
tinised with the most searching curiosity. The stranger's per-
tinacity at last roused the suspicion of the dame.

" You look on my old man," she said, *^ as if you wanted to
know him again. You have nothing against him, have you?"

" Nothing against him certainly," replied the stranger. " I
have been abroad for many ye/irs, and I was thinking of the
changes which a few years mske. And pray," he continued,
" how do you contrive to live in this desolate place?"

** I lived here very well once," said the woodman ; " that is,
as well as any poor man can live, when I had strength to work;
but now that I am old and can work no longer, nor my dame
neither, we live as all poor people live in this country when they
are too old to work ; that is," he added bitterly, ^' we starve 1"

'^ But there is no necessity that any one should starve in this
country," said the stranger ; *' there is a refuge for the aged and
infirm in the workhouses which the good Queen Elizabeth esta-
blished *for the poor ; why don't you take advantage of that
asylum provided for old age and infirmity ?"

" Ah !" exckiimed Margaret, " if the gentleman has been a
traveller in foreign parts, he doesn't know, perhaps, how the

292 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

workhouses have been changed by the rich folks that make the
laws. No poor man ever wished to go into them before, so long
as he could get wages to keep him out ; but now they have
made prisons of them, and poor people are treated like slaves
and criminals, and punished for being poor. Well, if the poor
people will bear it, it serves them right ; that 's all I can say."

*' I have been in a distant country for many years," said the
stranger ; " and I do not understand what you mean by the
changes that you speak of."

" You would soon understand them if you were a poor man,"
said the woodman, with much bitterness. ** But that 's the way
with the gentlefolks ; they never can understand us poor people,
or suppose that we have feelings and hearts and souls like them-
selves. But what do you think of this ? Look at my dame
there. She is just as old as me ; that 's more than the scripture<
age of threescore and ten ; put six to that. Look at her, I say.
It 's sixty-six years ago since she began to work ; and it was the
same with me. And for all those years we have worked side
by side, and hard enough too. Whatever happened, we shared
it together : if it was good, she made it the sweeter because shef
shared it with me ; if it was bad, she made the load the lighter
and the easier to be borne because she helped me to bear it^
And so we helped one another as man and wife should do,
and as God said it should be. As the scripture says, she
was bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh, and I was
the same to her. And for fifty-six years, or hard by, we
have lived and worked together. And what do you think?
Now that we are old and can work no longer, and I applied to
the workhouse to take us in to shelter ub, what did they say ?
Yes, they would take us in, but I and my dame mustn't be to-
gether ! That was clean against the rules of the house. These
are the new rules, you see, that the rich have made against the
poor. They couldn't let me and my old dame be together?
tiiey must separate man and wife ! Msai and wife, after they
have lived with each other for six-and-fifty years, arn't to be
allowed to be together ! Why, what is life to me now, and what
is life to Margaret, if we cannot go down to the grave, as we
have lived, side by side, and helping each other ? And it 'b not
long that either of us can have to live any way. It 's not the
starving that they have in the workhouse, nor the confinement,
though that 's hard enough to bear they tell me ; but it 's the
parting a man from his wife that angers me. And why do they

OB, THE BICH AND THE POOB. 293

do it ? Because we are poor and can't help ourselves. I never
was against the rich before, but always the contrary ; and I
always tried to still the labourers, as you know, Margaret, when
they were after violence ; but this beats alL What do the rich
suppose we poor people will do ? Bear it ? No ; I can tell
them they won't bear it ; and if I was young instead of the old
man and helpless as I am, I would be the one to lead them on.
I only wish that Ned Lacey was amongst us now. He was the
one to do it I"

**It'strue," said Margaret,"what Matthew says; he was always
one of the quietest men in the whole neighbourhck>d, and always
for peace and for letting the rich alone ; and often he got great ill-
will from the people about because he never would join them in
their breakings out. I remember-^it 's about sixteen years ago
now— when the labourers were going to bum down Grandborough
Castle^ and to kiU Lord Sarttm; — Matthew was against it then,
and would have nothing to do with their meetings and goings
on ; and some of the most violent said he was a spy, and they
would have murdered him if it hadn't been for the others who
answered for him ; for, although he would not join them, he
would not betray them ; and this is what we get for it. Ah,
sir I the rich have no gratitude and no feeling for the poor.
While we live we may work and work, and when we can't work
we may rot and die — and no one cares for us."

<* Wliat was it that you were saying about Lord Grand-
borough and Lcffd Sarum ?" interposed the stranger, as if de^
sirous of changing the conversation. '^ Did the labourers kill'
the young lord?"

" No, sir," answered Matthew ; ** they didn't do so bad as
that, but they were near upon it. They were going to throw
him down a deep pit."

^^ Ah !" exclaimed Margaret, ^^ there 's a story about that Pit I
it is fatal to that family."

** Well," resumed Matthew, ** I was telling the gentleman
that they were going to throw the young lord down the Pit ;
when, as Providence would have it, they spied me and a lad
that used to take up a good deal with me and my dame — one
Edward Lacey ; he used to live with his mother in the old cot-
tage yonder; you must have passed it as you came this way. A
woman with a child in her arms fell down into the Pit : it was
at the time of the great snow-storm ; atid young Ned saw 'em,
and he and I went out, and Ned went down and saved the child.

294 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINBB :

but the woman was killed ; she wasn't the mother of the eluldj
however, as it turned out afterwards."

** It was a lovely little thing," said Margaret. " I re-
member it well. ....."

" It was indeed,'' said the stranger.

Margaret stared ; Matthew went on : —

** And so you see, the lad Ned was down in the Pit with a
rope under his arms, and I was at the other end hardly able to
hold on any longer, when the mob came up to throw Lord
Sarnm into it ; and seeing me there trying to haul up the lad,
which I couldn't do, it changed their minds you see, so that they
coming up saved Edward and the child, and me too perhaps,
for I was near being pulled in by the weight ; and our being
there inade the mob think more of preserving lives than of
taking them, and that saved Lord Sarum's life ; so it was all
for the best ; only the woman was killed ; but I dare say there
was a reason for that if the truth could be known."

" It was a fearful night," exclaimed the stranger, *' and I
shall never forget it."

^^ Eh, sir r' said Margaret, with renewed surprise, examining
the stranger with increased attention.

** So you see, sir," continued the woodman, ^* Lord Sarum's
life was saved in spite of the prophecy."

" The prophecy I what was that?"

" It 's the old prophecy," said Margaret. " It is said that the
Fit will be &tal to the Grandborough &jnily tot three genera-
tions."

" Yes," said the stranger, " I remember the story of the
White Woman's Fit. Do the people still suppose tibat it is
haunted ?"

" You know the name of the Pit," exclaimed the dame, rising
up, and approaching the stranger in much agitation ; '^ and you
know that it is haunted. Who are you, air ? You are not a
stranger to these parts I'm sure."

^^ I remember all that you narrate too well," said the stranger,
mournfully: — ^the haimted Pit, the mad Rebecca, the charge of
the soldiers, and the poor child whom I saved, and who was
drowned with many more on the coast of America."

** You do?" cried Margaret suddenly, roused to intense emo-
tion. It is. Mat — it is ; I had a suspicion when he spoke be-
f orei. It is — it 's Ned come back a gentleman. Oh, gracious !
oh, goodness ! who would have thought it ? and we not to know

OB, THE BICH AND THE POOB. 2^5

him all the time I The Lord be good to us I What things do
happen in this world!" And the old dame, overcome with
surprise and joy, and the recollections of old times, sat down
again in her ch^ur and burst into tears.

** This gentleman Ned Lacey I" exclaimed Matthew, whose
eyes, dimmed with age, could no longer distinguish the nicer
Ihieaments of the countenance, and doubting the reality of
news too good to be true. '^ If this gentleman is Ned Lacey, —
stay— don't hurry me — ^I.am old, and I can't think quick as I
used to do. Yes; if this gentleman is Ned Lacey, he will
remember what was found by the edge of the Pit that same
night"

*' It was a curious gold cross," replied the traveller ; " and
more than that, it was found by the lad at the White Bull-
Mrs. Whiley's lad ; and on it was engraved the name of Fran*
cesca."

After the mutual and hearty congratulations which this dis-
covery of their old friend, whom they had known from his
childhood, gave rise to, Margaret, with womanly sympathy,
inquired about the child : —

" And what became of the poor child ?•— drowned, did you
say ?"

^^ The vessel in which I and my mother embarked was
wrecked off the coast of America. I tied the cross round the
child's nock, and tried to save it in my arms. But it was washed
away from me ; and I lost my senses for a time. I never saw
her nor my mother more. Wlien I recovered I found myself
on the surface of the water near a hencoop, which I seized hold
of. I could see nothing of the remains of the vessel^ nor of the
rest of the crew or passengers. The night was pitchy dark,
and the sea was very high. I was floated on the hencoop away
all night from the land, and was at last quite exhausted, and
expecting every moment to be washed from my support, when
a boat, which I did not see till it was close to me, picked me up
almost senseless. The boat belonged to a ship bound from New
York to the East Indies. Of course they could not stop on
their voyage for me ; so I was forced to accompany them to
Bombay, where I remained. I had all the money — little
enough — ^which we had been able to take with us, and the gold
chain which Lord Sarum put round the poor little child's neck.
That was all I had. At Bombay I heard that the native
princes were ia want of officers to introduce European tactics

296 FANinr, the little millixeb:

into their armies. Fortunately I was well acquainted with th^
English drill; for you know, Mat, I was always fond of soldier-
ing. Well — I made my way into the interior of the country,
engaged in service with a native prince, and was soon promoted,
as I was found useful, to a high command* This is not the time
to tell you all my adventures in the East ; be satisfied for the
present to know that I have acquired in the land of K^npees and
jewels sufficient to live at home comfortably, and to make others
comfortable too. And now^ Margaret, that I have told my
story, spread the cloth on the old table and set ou^ what I
brought with me for supper. We will talk of old times, and
hope that new ones will not be worse. And I spy a cord in
that comer ; it will do for me to tether out my horse with,
India fashion. The feed is not very prime about here I know,
but he was well fed at the inn, and he can contrive to get a
bite from the spring-grass."

** There 's some bran in that bucket,'' said Margaret, " if your
horse would eat it ; we had it for ourselves, but^there 's enough
here for days, so we can well spare that."

** Excellent !" said the traveller ; " I will make a mash for him,
and with the grass for dessert he will fare like a commissary's
coach-horse — ^that is, have the best that can be got. No hann,
I suppose, in throwing these sticks on the fire. The Indians,
you know, are a chilly race. That 's right, Margaret, shut the
shutter and light the candle. The evening is cold, as it always
is in this country in May. It 's a fine evening though; I see
the moon is getting up."

" Yes," said Matthew ; " it is full moon to-night"

^' Do you remember, Mat, what a glorious moon there was
shining over the moor on that frosty night when all that
trouble happened?"

^' Ah I" replied the woodman ; ^' we must hope that the moon
will never shine on the like of that again. From that tixoe to
this the people will never go near iiie Pit at night."

The happy reunion of these old friends, however, was destined
to be disturbed by an event which added another tale of horror
to the legends of the Haunted Pit

OB, THE RICH AND THE FOOK. 297

CHAPTER XL VI.

. THB ABSCONDER.

€t

Past ten o'clock 1" exclaimed the landlady of the White Bull :
— " it 's very odd the young lady is not come back I Blarney,
do you know my mind misgives me about that girL — She has
been sitting in her room all day, moping, in a very extraordinary
manner. I went to the door once, just to see if she wanted
anything ; and I could hear her sobbing fit to break your heart I
And when I looked through the keyhole I could see her on her
knees, as if she was praying. Now it 's very right to say your
prayers when you go to bed ; but in the middle of the day,
when one is busy, it 's not expected. It looks as if she was
meditating something desperate I Gracious Heaven I Suppose
she was to turn out to be a mad lunatic after all I How 's the
moon? Blarney, do leave off your ale and your pipe for
once, and attend to me. Did you ever know any one that com-
mitted suicide ?"

■* Bless you ! we have no time to commit suicide, as you call
it, in the service. We may grumble a bit now and then, when
the work 's hard and the ration 's scanty, and especially when
there 's no fighting ; but as to committing suicide I — bless you I
— we conmiit a good many things, but not that. There was
Sam Doalful of our troop ; he was my leading file when I first
took the king's shilling — God bless him I — and a precious rum
file he was I tliat 's Sam, not the king ; bless his M^tjesty's royal
heart — I '11 drink his health. Sam used to say he would commit
suicide when anything crossed him ; but bless you ! he never
had the leisure. At one time he was obliged to go to muster ;
at another he had his traps to clean ; or his horse was to be
watered ; or he had to get ready for inspection ; or we expected
to come up with the enemy next morning — and then of course
he put it off; or something or other was always happening ; so
that poor Sam Glum, as we used to call him, never could find
time to do the job. Besides, Sam w.as a brave feUow at bottom,
and it 's only cowards who kill themselves."

a9S FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

" It 's very dreadful !" observed Mrs. OTkgon pathetically.

" I don't see anything dreadful in being killed," continued
the trooper ; " it 's the doing it yourself that I don't like. Why,
bless you, any chap can do that I But what a precious nincom-
poop a fellow must be that can't bear a hardship without directly
deserting, as it were, from the service ! It 's like quitting one's
colours in the midst of a battle ! That was the way with Sam ;
only he was always talking of it and never did it. When any
little trifle happened to him — such as losing his sweetheart on a
march — there he was swearing he 'd hang himself — till he found
a new one ; and then he wasn't content, for if one of us gave
her a buss in a friendly way, and she didn't squeak out, then
Sam would swear she was false, and he would go and drown
himself! and if he had not relieved his mind by giving one of
his sweethearts a good strapping with his horse's bridle, I do
think it would have gone hard with him at the time — ^he was so
very fond of her !"

** That was an odd way of showing his love."

** It was Sam's way. Different people have diflferent ways of
showing their love; now I, my darling "

" Be quiet, Blarney : I 'm thinking of the poor young lady.
Do you know, I 'm quite uneasy. And now I think of it, she
did roll her eyes about in a very suspicious manner !"

" Lord love ye, my darling," replied the jovial trooper,
^* there 's nothing in that ! You should have seen how the gals
used to roll their eyes about at us boys when we were out at
parade 1 Ah ! those were the times ! And then, when we
chucked a joke at them, to see how they would wriggle their
pretty faces about under their kiss-me-quick bonnets, and look
up and down and every way, like a skittish young horse that
hasn't been broke in and don't know how to keep his head still.
But if you feel uneasy, my darling, why don't you take a glaei
of that brandy in the bottles with their jolly red noses, that look
as if they wanted one to drink 'em ? I think I should like a
drop myself I"

** Ah I Blarney I Blarney 1 you think more of every gal that
you see than you do of me I You long for your soldiering rois-
tering days to come back again I do believe : bad luck to me
was the day when I became Mrs. O'Flagon I — My poor dear
first husband I rest his kind soul I — I wasn't content with him,
and so he was taken from me. Ah ! ' Go farther and fare
worse !' that 's a true saying."

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 299

*^ And am not I your dear second husband, my darling, that
loves you as much as ever trooper loved his horse ? And ain't
I a-loving you now, my charmer? And isn't the greatest
delight that I have in life to look at your beautiful face so
plump and red, and take a quiet glass of brandy-and-water with
you — as husband and wife should do — sociably and lovingly
together?"

^* Ah ! Blarney, that 's the tongue that you have been used
to wheedle the 'women with; but you shan't wheedle me. Get
up, if you want to be of use, and see what is become of the
poor young lady : we shall be getting into trouble ; and we
shall have a coroner's inquest about her, or something ; — though
to be sure that would be for the good of the house one way—
not that I wish to make a profit of the poor girl's death. When
she went out — it must be two hours since — she set off up the
London road."

*' My darling," said the trooper, rising with alacrity, and
clapping on his head his trooper's cap, which he cherished as
the symbol of his much-loved occupation in former times, as he
finished his glass of ale at one vigorous toss — '*if the little
deserter is to be found in partibus — no, that 's not it — in rerum
natura, as our parson used to say — that is, my dear, if she *s
in the land of the living— I '11 bring her in to quarters— if
she '11 come — because we can't make her, as she never enlisted ;
that would be against all the rules of war. — But I'Utry my
tongue on her, my darling, and say that your own sweet self is
dying &om uneasiness ; and I "

" Stay, Blarney," said his wife, a sudden thought assailing
her; **I think Jim had better go; he knows the country
better."

*^ Not a bit, my darling ; I know every hedge and ditch in
the country ; and depend on it, if she has pitched her tent within
ten miles round, I'll light on her, and know why she hasn't
answered the roll-calL It 's just the sort of expedition that I
like ; it 's like going out a-foraging."

" Then, Mr. O'Flagon, I can tell you that you shall not go
out a^foraging, as you call it, without my leave. You'll break
my heart. Blarney, you will — with your foraging and your
wickedness 1"

'* Bless your heart, my darling I what is it you would have ?
First you blow me up for not going, and now you put me

X 2

300 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

down because I want to gol and — thunder and wounds,
woman ! — what the devil is it you would have ?"

" Whf>t would I have, Blarney, dear ? why, you I Do you
suppose I like you to go out at night to catch cold and make
your old wounds open ? Not I. Do you think I don't care for

you ? There, sit down like a good dear man as you are, and

Was it the brandy, did you say ? I'll get it, dear, in a minute.
There ! there 's stuff that the king might be proud to have a
suck at. But be moderate, Blarney, pray do; remember,
brandy costs money."

*' My darling, you know you may do with your good-
natured, fond husband just what you please, you do, you hand-
some wench. Ah ! once I had a heart, but now you have
got It in your bosom, you have, you jade you! Oh! you
know I'm so fond of you, you can do anything with me !
Where 's the man that ever loved you as I have loved you ? as
the song says ; and, my darling, where 's the corkscrew ?"
' *' Ah, Blarney ! you 're thinking more of the brandy than of
me, I fancy. But there — that 's enough for any man."

*^ It 's beautiful-looking stuff — ^like yourself, my darling 1
Another lump ol sugar ; that 's it ; don't put any more water to
it. It 's the water always that intoxicates, and not the brandy.
The pure liquor never hurt any man ; it 's the mixing it that does
the mischief. Take a sip yourself, my dear ; there — that will do
you good. Are you going away? Well, if you must attend to
l3usiness you must ; but you needn't take the bottle with you.
Put it more within reach, my darling ; that 's just the place.
Now I shall make myself comfortable for the night."

Leaving her husband in this satisfactory state, the prudent
landlady proceeded to despatch Jim the ostler on one of the
posthorses up the London road to endeavour to gain tidings of
the young lady who had left the inn in so unusual a manner.

" If you can't find her anywhere else," she said to her
messenger, ** look for her at the White Woman's Pit, hard
by the cottage of Matthew the Woodman ; perhaps you may
find her there."

** No chance of that," replied her minister, shaking his head
sigrtificantly ; " no one ever goes nigh the White Woman's Pit
in the daytime If he can help it, let alone at night. She won't
be there, missus ; but if she 's anywhere by the up-road I shall
be sure to see her, for there 's a good moon to-night any way :
I think it 's the full"

. OR, THE KICH AND THE POOR. 301

So saying, the landlady's master of the horse departed on his
errand, with the sincere desire to execute his mistress's wishes,
but with the very decided determination not to trust himself
near the haunted spot at which the mysterious White Woman
was popularly supposed to hold her midnight orgies.

He proceeded leisurely on the road^ keeping a wary look out
on either side, and listening attentively from time to time to
catch any sound of complaint or distress. But for some time
neither sight nor sound met his eye or ear. He bad jogged on
for six or seven miles on his way, when he heard at a distance
the sound of an approaching vehicle. As this was not the time
when any down-coach was expected, he was awure that it must
be some private carriage, and his well-practised ears enabled
him to distinguish that it w^as flying over the road at a tremen-
dous rate of speed. Drawing up to the side of the way to allow
the carriage to pass, he was surprised to see its pace relaxed as
it approached him. When it arrived opposite it buddenly
stopped, and a voice from the inside called out,—

*^ Who are you, my man ?"

*« The ostler at the White Bull."

** Ah 1 this is lucky. Come nearer — to the window— here.
Has anything remarkable happened in the neighbourhood within
this day or two?"

'^ Nothing whatsumever ; except that wide-mouthed Bob wh,o
used to live with us came to see missus yesterday,, and he said
that Lord Gxandborough was coming down to the cagtle."

*' I know— nothing else ?"

" Folks say there 's a new workus to be buiU, and all the
poor people are to be shut up close — and as to their gi:ub,...^x"

" Never mind that — I don't care for that."

'' Ay, but the poor people do.. And they say th*t Black
Will has been seen again in these parts."

"Who is Black WiU?"

'^Everybody knows Black Will — that is, (fid know him*
It 's he that was transported for that affair iu the Barn some
sixteen years ago — and for other things besides if all things be
true ; he was the brother to the husband of that crazy old gaj,
Kebecca "

" Hah ! Rebecca ! what do you know of Rebecca ? Is she
down here ? Have you seen her ?"

*' Not I. I know nothing about her; she hasn't been seen in
these parts for many a day."

3X)2 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

" Do you know a .place called the White Woman's Pit on
the moor near Sandy Flats ?"

'^ Yes, yes, I know the White Woman's Pit well enough,
but I have no mind to go there — though missus did w^ant me to
look there after the young lady ; as if she would go there — at
this time of night too I"

" What young lady ?"

*' It 's a young lady that came down yesterday, and has been
behaving very improper and mysterious ; and she left us quite
promiscuous about eight o'clock to-night, and she 's absconded no-
body knows where, and without paying her bill, which is quite
irregular and what missus isn't used to by no means ; and so
this poor boss must suffer for it, and I'm to go a-seeking after
her at the White Woman's Pit ! (Catch me there !)"

'* Is not to-night the full of the moon ?" asked the traveller.

" Yes, my lord," said the servant in the rumble behind. ** I
know particularly, because at the last stage they said we should
have a fine night down, as it was the full of the moon."

" I don't know what it may be in Lunnun," said the ostler
very deferentially, to whom the reply of the servant had re-
vealed the rank of the occupant of the carriage ; *' but it 's the
full down here, because I heard missus say so."

" Can you take me by the shortest and best way to the place
called the White Woman's Pit ?" asked the nobleman.

The ostler hesitated.

*' If you do it well, you shall have five guineas."

Nothing would have induced the old ostler to visit that
awful place alone ; but he considered that he should be accom-
panied by the travelling carriage and its party ; besides it was
the place to which his mistress had particularly desired him to
go, so that he should have the satisfaction of obeying her com-
mands ; in addition to which reasons there were five others in
the shape of guineas, which, joined with the others, effectually
removed all scruples of superstitious fear. Expressing an im-
mediate assent therefore to the lord's proposal, which he couched
in terms expressive of his extreme delight and eagerness to do
anything which his lordship might be pleased to direct, the
ostler placed himself at the head of the party ; and, setting off
at a rapid pace in obedience to the lord's directions, he quickly
put the postillions and their cattle on their mettle to keep up
with the clattering pace with which he galloped in the direction
of the cross-road leading to the Moor.

OR, TU£ RICH AND THE POOS^ SOS

CHAPTER XLVII.

A NIGHT OF TX&BOaS.

TnERE is a courage that exists from the ignorance of dlonger;
such is the courage of a child : there is a courage that arises,
from the extremity of despair ; such is the courage of the
mother when in defence of her child she faces the lion in his
fury : there is a courage which is based on religious faith ; such
is the courage of the martyr. But the courage which supported
Francesca in her perilous enterprise was different from aU these*
It was the strong, ardent, absorbing hope of the fulfilment of
the whole wish of her existence — the discovery of her parents —
that inspired her with fortitude to wrestle with the terrors of
that fearful night !

At first the freshness of the evening, and the invigorating
coolness of the air after her seclusion in her chamber during the
day, inspired her with a buoyancy of spirit which she regarded
as a favourable omen of the success of her adventure. She had
been so long secluded from the sun and air in her close and
miserable apartment in London, that the mere sight of the fields
and trees, and the unobstructed view of the sky which here and
there disclosed a star, filled her with pleasurable sensations*
iShe felt like a bird escaped from her cage, or a prisoner released
from his dungeon ; and for a while she gave herself up to the
delicious thoughts which her hopes and the romance of her soli-
tude inspired.

But these illudons of the freshened animal spirita wef&
quickly dispelled* When she quitted the highway,, and entered
the cross-road which led to the Moor, a sense of loneliness
assailed her. The road was rutty and uneven, showing that it
was seldom used: there was no footpath — its absence being
evidence of the paucity of such travellers who passed that way.
To her left was a dreary waste, affording but scanty pasture for
a few sheep and cattle which had been driven to their respective
folds and enclosures on the approach of night ; to her right at a
little distance was a wood of low stunted trees, stretching at

304 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

far as the eye could penetrate, and presenting the appearance of
convenient ambush for the midnight marauder. The pale light
of the moon shed a dim lustre over the landscape ; but there
was no sight of living thing ; neither man, nor animal, nor bird,
nor insect. All was calm and still ; and nature seemed buried
in deep repose.

Francesca stopped on her way. She looked before her and
behind her ; she scanned the wide waste on one side, but there
was nothing to be seen, and she could hear no sound ; she
strove to penetrate with searching eyes into the deep recesses of
the suspicious wood ; but she could see nothing ; she could hear
nothing. — She felt that she was alone I alone there ; alone in
the world : amidst the millions of human beings who inhabited
the earth, she was alone ! She raised her eyes to the heavens,
to the moon walking in brightness, and to the stars spangling
the sky with their sparkling effulgence, and she thought of the
worlds beyond our own till her thoughts wandered and became
confused with overwhelming thoughts of the vastness of space :
she felt humbled— depressed — lost — in the immensity of the
creation !

And then her thoughts ascended with awe and wonder to the
Great Being who by the power of his will had called into exist-
ence all the glorious objects which she beheld, and the countless
myriads of creatures with which her fancy peopled them ; and
as she thought her heart misojave her I How could she dare to
believe that the hopes — or the fears — or the prayers of a crea-
ture such as she was — an atom in the boundless universe — could
attract the notice of the Great Supreme whose type is Infinity ?

Infinity I But with infinite power and infinite majesty was
there not also infinite goodness — ^benevolence vast and wide
enough to comprehend within the amplitude of divine love the
meanest of God's creatures ? Was not she also the object of
His affection and His care ? and could she doubt of Heaven's
protection, or despair of divine assistance in her lonely pilgrim-
age ? — She could not ! She felt that she walked under God's
eye, and that in the midst of perils she should be safe so long
as she walked in purity of heart, and was prompted by good in-
tention. Filled with such consolatory thoughts, she knelt down
on the earth and prayed for the divine help in her arduous un-
dertaking. Refreshed in spirit, and fortified by religious faith
and reliance in the justice and goodness of God, she arose, and

OR; THE BICU AND TH£ POOR. 30^

with invigorated step pursued her way. It was not long before
her faith in Heavenly protection was put to the test.

The road was narrow but straight, so that the wayfarer could
see for a considerable distance before her, although all objects
were but indistinctly to be traced by moonlight. Francesca,
who could not avoid casting many an anxious look around her,
had not proceeded far before she beheld an object in the distance
which suddenly attracted her attention. At first she thought it
was the stump of a tree ; but a stump of a tree on a trodden
road was an unusual occurrence ; and she paused to examine it.
It was then that she became aware that the object was in motion ;
and presently she was sensible that it was advancing towards her.
As she was shaded by a dwarf oak, her own person was unob-
served, while the figure of the night wanderer waa plainly
visible in the light of the moon.

As the object came nearer she perceived that it was a man
with a long stick or a gun under his arm. In a moment all her
courage fled, and she remained fixed by the trunk of the tree in
an attitude of trembling apprehension. All the fears of the
woman came over her ; the night ; the solitude ; the loneliness
and dreariness of the place ; she was assailed with indefinable
terrors. As she looked she saw the man cross from the opposite
side of the road to her own. It was then that her fear became
most violent. While there was yet time she determined to fly
farther into the wood. She retreated cautiously ; taking advan-
tage of the shadiest trees, and turning her «yes occasionally to
the path of the man, whose steps, to her still further alarm,
seemed to be bent in the same direction as her own. She ad-
vanced deeper into the wood and with a quicker pace, when to
her great relief she came on the ruins of a rude hut, in which
she determined to conceal herself till the cause of her alarm had
passed by.

She entered the hut ; it had neither door nor window ; but it
was divided inside into two parts by a partition of twigs and
plaster. She was congratulating herself at having discovered
this apparently secure asylum when she heard the tread of foot-
steps; and looking out of the aperture which formed the
window, to her horror she beheld the man, whose form was
dimly visible in the shadow of the trees, advancing direct to the
place. She hastily retreated to the furthermost corner of the
inner room, which was involved in darkness, and she had hardly

306 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINEK :

settled herself in her crouching posture when the man entered
the hut.

Francesca held her breath. The man had a gun in his hand ;
that she distinctly saw. What was his object ? Why did he
come there ? Had he seen her ? What could she do ? Scream
out? who would hear her ? Fly? that was impossible : to escape
from the hut she must pass him! She feared he would hear
the beating of her heart, and drag her out of her hiding-
place ! That the man could be abroad for no good purpose, her
fears made her feel certain 5 for why was he armed with a gun,
and why did he come to that hut ? What was his business there ?
If he was an honest labouring man he would be at home. None
but thieves prowled about in that guise at such an hour of the
night ! Her brain whirled, and her eyes seemed ready to start
from their sockets from the agony of her fear, when presently
she heard the man speak. There was more than one then ? how
was that? she had seen only one — was there another in the
hut when she entered, and who had observed her ? Then she
was lost I Her teeth chattered with terror.

No: the man was talking to himself; there was only one;
but one perhaps was more dangerous for her than two ? A
second person might be a protector. Now that she was assured
there was only one she regretted the absence of the other whom
her fears had conjured up. The man was talking to himself: —
what did he say ? She might gather from his discourse perhaps
something to reassure her, or to guide her in her dealings with
him should he discover her ; but her heart beat so, she feared
every moment that he would hear its throbbings. He spoke
again. She listened : —

" And here 's the old hut still standing,'* said the man ; " at
least, what 's left of it. I never thought to see it again. Four-
teen years at Botany Bay working in the coal-mines was not the
sort of work to prolong a man's life. But I 've got through it ;
and here I am again ! — here I am again ! Well, I never thought
it!"

There was a pause ; the man's revelation of his condition was
not calculated to inspire confidence in the trembling Francesca,
That he had been convicted of some crime and transported was
certain. Not a very attractive person for a young girl to meet in
a lonely hut in the middle of a thick wood, apart from human
habitation and help ! Presently the man resumed his soliloquy: —

OK, THE RICH AND THE POOR: 307

*^ Yes, I Ve killed something among these trees in my time,
and it shall go hard if I don't kill more. It 's better, though, to
wring a neck quietly than to let the crack of one's piece be
heard. What does it matter, so long as you kill and pocket the
money, whether it's by a wrung neck or a shattered head.
Though, after all, there 's a pleasure in killing with this tidy
tool," slapping the butt of his gun, *' for killing's sake. But
it should be right through the head — that settles at once, apd
makes a clean job of it ; a volley in the breast is murder !"

There was another pause. Francesca resigned herself to her
fate ! Death seemed inevitable ! Here was a convict returned
from transportation full of bloodthirsty thoughts, and, from long
practice in his murderous career, taking a pleasure in killing for
killing's sake I She closed her eyes to shut out from view the
violent and imminent death which her fancy pictured to be im-
pending over her — too glad if she could escape from violence
still more horrible than death itself !

After a whUe the man spoke again :-

" They thought they had done for Black Will when they got
him safely lodged at the bottom of a coal-mine in Botany Bay I
Perhaps they thought I wasn't black enough, and so they
thought they would make me blacker !" Here he laughed a low
laugh at his own joke, which to Francesca's ears sounded
fiendish. " But here I am again— and, if ever I longed for any-
thing in my life, it is to have a shot at something just now I" —
Here Francesca heard a clicking of the lock of the man's
gun, which filled her with fresh fears. " But there 's nothing
to shoot ! not even a young 'un to bring down. I should like to
light a fire on the old hearth. Nothing inside here, I suppose,"
he said, rising up, and entering the inner room, the walls of
which he felt round with his gun. " They have taken away
everything. Well I I'll pick up a few sticks outside and make
myself comfortable for once. There can be no harm in that,
any way."

Saying this, he left the hut, and, going into the front, he
stooped down to collect the few dry bits of boughs that were
scattered about. Francesca thought this was a good opportunity
to escape, and she rose from her form where she had lain
crouched like a timid hare, and approached the door ; but the
man was directly in front of the hut and barred her escape.
The rustling of her dress, however, caught his quick ear, and

308 FANNT, TU£ LITTLE MILLINER:

he hastily pointed his gun in the direction of the door where
Francesca stood. Standing within the hut, she could see him in
the moonlight, herself unseen. She stood motionless and hold-
ing her breath. She heard the man give a low laugh and
mutter something to himself ; and presently he re-entered the
hut, bearing an armful of dry sticks. The noise which they
made disguised the sound of Francesca's retreat to her corner,
into which she shrank as before.

Soon there was a flickering blaze in the outer room, which
illuminated the entrance of the inner one, where Fanny lay
concealed. Every moment she expected that the man would
enter it with a lighted piece of wood and survey its con-
tents. But it seemed that he was loth to leave his fire;
and presently the smell of tobacco, which pervqded the place,
made her sensible that he had lighted his pipe, and was set in,
die hoped^ for smoking.

" Now," said the man, " if one only had a nice gal and a
bottle of rum, the place would be bearable ; — however, a pipe 'a
no bad coiApanion for want of a better. I should feel happier
though if I had killed something ; just committed a little bit of
murder on the inhabitants of these parts. But all in good time.
—Can't have all we wish. — And I'm very tired. — I should like
to have a sleep. — Botany. . . — Governor. . .Beaks. .... grabbed

single barrel good shot not fair murder —

murder — ^murder "

Francesca heard him stretch himself out on the floor ; then
he breathed hard — ^harder: he snored: he slept: she might
escape ! Her heart beat quick I She arose as softly as possible;
crept on tiptoe to the entrance of the inner room ; listened ;
waited; listened again; his measured breathings assured her
that he was sound asleep. — She ventured to protrude her head
and look out. There was but little fire left, which cast a faint
red glow over the room. He was certainly asleep ; but as he
lay, his body was between her and the outer door. What should
she do? Try to pass over him without waking him? That
was a perilous step! Wait till he awoke and went away?
That was not less perilous ! His sleep was sound ; his face was
nearly fronting her ; and he held his gun, even in his sleep,
grasped and ready for service. Dare she attempt it? It was
desperate, but it was imperative. It was her only chance of
escape from him. She determined to try it.

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 309

Taking off her shoes, which she held in her hand, that her
tread might be lighter, and gathering her clothes round her so
as to prevent the slightest noise from the rustling of her dress,
she issued forth from her hiding-place. Putting her foot on
the ground so lightly that it would scarcely have left its print on
sand^ she stepped rapidly over his feet and gained the door ; but
in her haste she threw down a few sticks which the man had
collected for the fire and placed by the entrance. The noise
of their falling awoke him. Instantly gaining his feet, he looked
round the hut for his enemy, and, exclaiming '^ A spy I a spy I'*
he discharged his fowling-piece at the object which he saw re-
treating. Francesca heard the shot rattle against the other side
of the tree which she had just turned ; but, hardly conscious of
the danger she had escaped, she fled with the swiftness of a
startled fawn, and was soon buried in the thickest part of the
forest.

Exhausted with her rapid flight, and overcome with fear,
Francesca sank down panting at the foot of a tree. Her late
encounter had made her fully sensible of the rashness of her
midnight expedition, and she would have given worlds to be safe
in her little chamber at the inn. How to find her way out of
the wood was now the question. Which way should she turn ?
And whichever way she might go, was there not danger in her
path ? Bowing down her head in her hands, she gave way to an
hysterical burst of tears.

She wept long and bitterly ; they were the tears of repentance
as well as of sadness. She felt she had done wrong. She had
committed a great imprudence. It was more than rash to
venture on such a hazard, young as she was, alone, and in the
dangerous hours of the night I She had, she feared, relied too
much on herself : she had been guilty of an excess of pride and
self-confidence. And now, she was indeed in the condition of an
outcast ! Lost in a gloomy forest, where it seemed she should
be obliged to pass the night. She was afraid to stir for fear of
being discovered by the man who she thought was pursuing her.
But to remain there all night ! exposed to the cold and all the
horrors of such a situation I What could she do ? She raised
her hands to Heaven in supplication. The moon, broad and
full, was shining down through the thick leaves of the trees, and
Francesca gazed on it as on a friend. Suddenly the thought
occurred to her, that when she had knelt down in the road the

310 FAXXY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

moon was on her left hand, and that the road stretched straight
before her. This thought reanimated her. She had now a
guide out of the wood. First putting on her shoes^ which she
held in her hand^ softly and cautiously, as the wild deer leaves
its lair, she stole from her retreat, and made her way through
the trees. It was not long before she came on tlie road ; and
then, with present safety, her courage partially returned; and,
with her re-awakened courage, her daring purpose-

" It was as safe," she ha&tily argued, "to go forward to the
Moor as to go back ; and at the Pit she should meet Rebecca,
who would be a protection to her, and who could serve as a
guide to some place of safety." Besides, she remembered that
the Pit was near a cottage belonging to one called Matthew the
Woodman, and there at least she should find shelter. She
judged also that the spot could not be far off, as she had now
nearly reached the end of the forest ; and by the light of the
moon she could perceive the open Moor, like a vast sea, losing
itself in the distance. With this resolve, therefore, she hast-
ened on; and leaving the road towards her right hand^ she
pursued her way in a slanting direction towards her left, accord-
ing to the information which she had gained of the position of the
Pit; and in a short time she had reason to believe, from the marks
and signs which she was able to distinguish around her, that she
was close to the appointed spot.

The moon now became overshadowed with clouds, and Fran-
cesca, fearing that she might come upon the Pit before she
was aware, and be precipitated into its depths, proceeded more
cautiously and slowly; and the pause in her excited course
gave time to her to reflect. She stopped and looked around her.
She could see nothing moving. Behind her she could trace the
dim outline of the wood that she had quitted ; on one side was
the wide surface of the dreary Moor, unbroken except by a
stunted tree here and there, and some few bushes which scarcely
rose above the surface. Before her, to the lefl, she fancied she
could make out in the distance what appeared to her to be a
cottage nearly hidden by a few trees which intercepted the view.
She judged that she was now near the Pit, and she looked
out anxiously for Bebecca ; but she could see no one. She ad-
vanced farther ; and then, imcertidn as to her course, stood stilL

All was silence around. The moon, covered with clouds^ no
longer afforded its cheering light : the night was cold, and the

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 311

dreary Moor looked more desolate and waste in the obscurity.
Francesca felt anxious and nervous. She knew that she must
be close to the Pit, but she feared to advance farther, lest a
false step should lead to danger. Where was Rebecca? Had
she deceived her? Or was it only the wanderings of mad-
ness that had prompted the mysterious language and the
tempting promises of the strange woman? Her revelations
were the revelations of reason, but her words were the ravings
of insanity ! What did she mean by saying in her letter that
the *' White Woman" would meet them there ? Was there to
be a third person ? Who was the White Woman? Was she a
real personage, or some phantom of the brain conjured up in the
wandering fancy of the mad woman ? No : — it must be some
tradition connected with the Pit. She remembered that Re-
becca had said that she would call to the White Woman to come
out of the Pit. That was it ; the Pit was haunted ; and the
White Woman was the spirit supposed to dwell there. — Strange
superstition ! But such superstitions had existed in all ages !
Could there be any truth in it? Was it that the spirits of the
departed were sometimes permitted to revisit the earth for some
mysterious purpose ? But why should they be malignant ? The
White Woman was supposed to be a malignant spirit, or why
should her haunts be dreaded ? What could have given rise to
llie popular belief in the present story ? There must be some
foundation for it. But her reason and her sense told her that
it could be only an idle tale ! And yet, while she reasoned,
lliat lurking superstition which affects all minds — the bravest
and the strongest as well as the cowardly and the weakest-*
began gradually to steal over her, and to paralyse her faculties
with its benumbing power. The night ; the solitude ; the bodily
exhaustion, and the nervous excitement ; all tended to darken,
to weaken, and to confuse her thoughts. Her head at last grew
dizzy; and her eyes, wearied with straining, seemed to see
strange sights ; and it was at the moment when her overtasked
mind and wearied frame had most fitted her to receive superna-
tural impressions, that suddenly a form arose as it were out of
the earth, and, standing before her, pronounced the word —

" Francesca I"

Francesca screamed, and, shutting her eyes, sank on her knees
with terror !

*' Francesca 1"

312 FAXNr, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

Francesca opened her eyes ; and, the rising wind sweeping
the clouds from the sky, the light of the full moon revealed to
her the gaunt form and wild features of Rebecca I

'* Francesca !" repeated the mad woman ; " why have you
delayed so .long ? The White Woman is weary of 'Waiting for
you. I have kept my ear to the edge of the Pit,tu listen to her,
and I have heard her wailing below I"

" Is this the White Woman's Pit?" asked Francesca, her
flesh creeping on her bones at the sinistrous words of the mad
woman.

" It is here," replied Rebecca, pointing with her finger.
** This is the place where the White Woman dwells ; it is here
that she pronounced her curse on her persecutor ; and her spirit
haunts the spot till her curse is fulfilled ! — But come I She is
calling us; we must not vex her! We two," she continued,
taking hold of Francesca's hand — *'we two will go to her
together !"

" What is it," said Francesca, " that you would have me do ?
You promised, if I met you at this spot, that you would tell me
who were my parents."

" And I will tell you ; but not here. We must be alone —
quite alone ! No one but the White Woman must hear us ; for
she knows all ! Spirits see things we cannot see ! And I hear
her cries in the hollow pit below ; and she is angry that we do
not come 1"

" My good woman," said Francesca, growing more terrified,
and perceiving that Rebecca was the sport of insanity, " what
do you mean ? What is the Pit and the White Woman to us?
Tell me what you have to tell me here."

" I cannot ; I must not ; the White Woman would be angry,
and she is my sister and my spirit, and I will not have her an-
gered ! She is white ; and her clothes are white ; and her hair
is white ; and her eyes are white ; all white I because white is
the colour of the dead ! And the White Woman is dead, and
this is her spirit I and she is waiting for you ; and even now I
hear her chiding because you will not come !"

** But, Rebecca," said Francesca, seeing that the woman was
quite mad, and hoping that she could reason her out of her
delusion; *' how are we to get to the bottom of the Pit? had
you not better go and get a ladder?"

" A ladder ! a ladder to go down the Pit ! Child, no ladder

OR, THB RICH AND THE POOR. 313

that man ever made could reach the bottom of this Pit I Is it
by a ladder that the White Woman comes out of it ? No : — she
rises up like a shade and floats in the air ! I can fly in the air
too ; and I will hold your hand, and so we will sink down,
down, down, like two clouds; and then we shall know the
secrets of the cave, and the White Woman will greet us as
her sisters. — Come ! Francesca I come !"

** Stay," said Francesca, her blood freezing with horror at the
terrible death that seemed to be her doom, and flnding herself
completely in the power of the maniac, who held her hand
clutched tightly, and was about to drag her to the edge of the
Pit ; ** stay ; I have a word to say to you — Rebecca."

" Speak quick then, for I hear the White Woman calling,
and her eyes will glare at us if we do not go to her."

" Stay I Rebecca! You remember that you carried me in
your arms when I was a little child..."

'' Who told you that ?"

'* You told me so yourself; you said that, when I was saved
from the Pit by Edward Lacey, it was you who received me in
yoiu: arms, and who brought me back to life by your care — ^you
did, Rebecca — think — remember !"

** Remember ! I remember too well ! I wish I could forget I
Strange visions have come to me I Once I dreamed — no — ^it was
not a dream I I remember I held the child in my arms — and it
reminded me of my own child that I had lost 1 One — two-
three — four— all lost I Hah I They are at the bottom of hee
Pit ! We shall find them there. Make haste, I say, and come T
And with these words, and holding the young girl in her power-
ful grasp, with maniac strength she pulled her to the edeje of
the precipice.

" Hah ! hah I" she cried ; *^ now we are coming ! Jump,
Francesca, jump I"

** Rebecca 1 Rebecca ! a moment ! stay I I want to tell you
something — about your children — about your husband '

" My husband !" exclaimed Rebecca ; " do you dare to speak
to me of my husband ? Girl, do you know what they did to my
husband ? They killed him, and they burned him I Burned
him and killed him ! And do you know who did it ? Hah I
that's another secret! Your father, and your father's father;
they did it ! They sent him away in a convict-ship — yes, they
made my husband a convict ! a convict, girl I And I am

Y

914 FAKKY, T1£B LITTLE MILLIKEft:

Ae coilTict's wife tliat the rich and iSae proud revile and spurn

atr

*' Bebecea — ^Rebecca T piteonsly exclaimed Franoesca^ as the
ipad woman shook her in her forj; ^^ it was not I liiat did it.
ponotkiUmef(Hritr

*' Why did they kill my hnsband and my ehildren ? It was
you and yours who did it. Their Uood runs in your veins, and
why should you be spared the penalty ? Hah I it is so I it is I
One — ^Two— Three! On three generations the curse of the
IVhite Woman was to fall I One has suffi^^ed I — two have suf*
hgted ! — ^three must suffer ! — and you are the third. The White
Woman has d^vered you into my hands for sacrifice I Come P
said the mad woman, throwing her bony and nervous arms
round the fainting girl, who was utterly ber^t by terror at all
power of resistance ; ^^ oome I we will jump down the Pit toge-
ther, and then the curse will be fuMUed, and all the secrets will
be revealed I" Saying this, the maniac lifted up Francesca as if
Ae was a child, and, with the wild scream q£ insanity, was on
iSae point of casting herself and her victim into ike deep abyss
of the Haunted Pit, when a shout was heard behind them, and,
as Bebecea disappeared down the fearful cha^n, Franoesca fete
herself torn trbm the clutches of the mad womaa, and in tiie
anns of Lesd Manley !

Excess of terror struggling with excess of joy^ and overoow^
lag aU her faculties, she fainted; and in that condition wa#
bornie by h^ pceserver to the woodman^ cottage.

CHAPTER XL¥HL

KKW ffaiBKBS«

The heartirending shrieks at the Pit's mouth bad not been un-
hdord or unattended to by the if^dates of the cottage. Edward
Liflusey had probnged his stay far into the laight ; and ;the aged
cou|fle iek no weariness in tolkiaig <rf byTgone iimes^ and in
listeningto Edward's stories of hisii^rious adyontares. Suith«

OB, THB BICH AND TUB POOB. 315

last cries of Francesca had startled them in the midst of their
conversation and their mirth, and Edward, starting up, instantly
rushed out of the cottage, and reached the scene of peril at the
mcHuent that Lord Manley had received ux his arms the fainting
form of the almost lost Francesca. Matthew and Margaret
followed as fast as their aged limbs could carry them, and the
whole party in silence had returned together. Edward, or, as
he must now be called. Colonel Lacey, was not slow in offering
his aid to Francesca's preserver in transporting his charge to the
cottage ; but Lord Manley, afler a hasty glance at the soldierly-
lookii^ stranger, declined his assistance in brief terms, and^
having deposited his precious burthen in the inner room, he left
her to the motherly care of old Margaret, by whose assistance
i^.was quickly restored to a state of consciousness.

Lord Manley, in the mean time, had despatched his servant
on. Colonel Lacey's horse, which was promptly proffered for the
service, for his own travelling carriage, which he had left at the
edge of the Moor. As soon, therefore, as Francesca had in
some degree recovered her strength and spirits, the carriage had
arrived at the cottage, and Lord Manley went out for a short
time to make inquiries respecting the best way of reaching the
high road, and personally to inspect the state of the Moor in
that direction. Colonel Lacey, from a disinclination to put^
himself forward, remained behind. It was then that Margaret,
whose tongue was the only member of her body which did not
partake of the general infirmity of old age, released from the
restraint which her awe of a lord had imposed on her, gave way
to her curiosity :^

" Goodness gracious 1" said the dame, giving vent to her long/
pent-up breath in her habitual exclamation; "well! this is
extraordinary ! This is the second time, Mat, that you have
helped, as I may say, to save a fellow-creature from that dread-
fnl Pit ! And that awful woman, Kebecca, who hasn't been
seen for I don't know how many years, to jump down it in that
horrid way I Well- — she was always mad, but I never thought
she was so mad as that I How was it, miss, that she wanted to
pull you in ? Had you angered her in any way?"

*' I did very wrong," said Francesca ; " and! was very ra^h
and very foolish. That poor woman enticed me to. meet her
there, by a promise to tell me something that it very much con-
ceii)/ed,i»e to know* By some meao^ she was in possession of a

Y 2

316 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

secret respecting me and — in truth I have done wrong — I

see it now —I ought not to have trusted myself to such a per-
son, insane as she was."

" A secret I" exclaimed Margaret ; ** goodness gracious ! She
knew a secret, did she ? Goodness, what a pity she did not tell
it to you before she jumped down into the Pit ! Goodness gra-
cious ! I wonder what the secret was !"

" I think," said Francesca, looking at Matthew attentively,
'* this must be the woodman's cottage which I have heard speak

of r

" To be sure it is, miss ; and that is Matthew the Woodman ;
my husband, miss ; and I am Margaret, his wife ; and that. . ."

" Perhaps," said Francesca, interrupting the loquacity of the
aged dame, ''you will allow me to ask you a few questions
about a sad event that occurred many years ago ?"

'* As many as you please, miss," replied the ready Margaret,
who, old as she was, was burning with curiosity to know who
the " miss" was who had been introduced so suddenly and so
strangely to her acquaintance.

'' Did not an event occur, many years ago, similar to this?"
asked Francesca, turning away her eyes from Colonel Lacey,
who was regarding her with so earnest and inquiring a gaze,
tliat she blushed and felt confused.

" About a woman and a child that was lost ?" said Margaret
eagerly.

" Yes ; that was the story," said Francesca, in a voice that
slightly faltered.

" Bless you ! I can tell you all about it. Nobody can tell
you more about it than I can, for it was my good man there
who saved the child— and that "

'' Indeed I"

" It was indeed; wasn't it. Mat? and it was I, although I
say it myself, who saved the child's life after it was got out all
benumbed with the cold, with its dear little nose quite blue,
and its two little hands like two little bits of ice, they were so
cold ! Well, I chafed it, and chafed it, and rubbed it, and at
last it came to ; and it was the most beautifullest little dear that
eyes ever beheld ! such eyes ! like little stars ! It's lost now —
drowned, poor thing ! But that 's not the story that you want
to hear. Well, you must know that the son of a great lord,
whose castle is not many miles from here — Lord Sarum it was

OR, THE RICU AND THE POOK. 31 T

—took a wonderful fancy to the child ; and peoj)le thought —

and indeed some said but that's all very mysterious ; and

nobody ever knew anything about it; but the child, as I was
saying, was put under the care of Mrs. Lacey — poor Mrs.
Lacey ! she 's dead and gone too I Well — where was I ? Oh !
When poor Ned Lacey was obliged to leave the country — never
mind why — Colonel, I'm not going to tell secrets "

Francesca looked up at Colonel Lacey ; but there was in his
countenance an expression so strange — so agitated — so mii:gled
with grief, and hope, and joy — that she hastily turned again to
the dame, who continued without stopping, and with a volubility
that was positively astonishing : —

** he took the child with him ; that is, he and his mother.

And often and often have I and my good man wondered and
wondered what had become of them I Don't speak. Colonel ;
1 11 tell it all to the young lady myself: — Well, we used to
wonder what had become of them, but it was of no use, because
our wondering didn't make us know more about it ; but, oh,
goodness I it 's sad to tell ! The earth is full of sorrows, as the
bible says, and the sea too ; for poor Ned Lacey's mother ! — ah !
Colonel! I see it saddens you— but time cures grijf; — well,
the ship in which Ned Lacey and his mother went, and the
child that I told you of, was wrecked on the coast of — America,
wasn't it. Colonel ? — yes, America ; and poor Mrs. Lacey was
drowned — Colonel, don't take on so I — and the poor little child
was drowned too !"

" No," said Francesca, " the child was not drowned ; it was^<
saved !"

" Bless me, miss ! how did you know that ?"

" The child's name was "

*^ The child's name ? Bless me ! to think that I have forgot-
ten the child's name I It was a foreign name like : the child's

name was... was..."

*' Francesca," said Colonel Lacey.

" One word more," said Francesca. '^Was there not a
curious cross found at the edge of the Pit on that same night ?"

" There was," said the Colonel ; and that cross was tied round
the neck of the child with these hands when the vessel was
wrecked."

" You ! you !" exclaimed Francesca, rising up, and regarding
the dark but handsome features of the stranger in excessive.

SIS tAMTT, THS LITTLS MILLINBB:

agitation : ^^ then you would know it s^ain ! Is this the
cross?"

" That is the cross,** said the Colonel, his voice broken with
emotion, and deyouring the features of Fitkncesca widi eaget
eyes ; " and on it is engraved the name of * Francesca,' "

^^ Who then are you ?" she said, as she looked at his faCe,
which was working conyukively, while her own breast heaved
with an emotion which she could not subdue. ** Who," she
repeated, as she clasped her hands imploringly, ^^ oh I who are
you?"

** Lord love ye, miss I that 's Ned Lacey, that saved the child
from the Pit !"

Francesca was seized with a delirium of joy thus to meet with
one who had preserved her from a dreadful death, the bitter
foretaste of which she had but recently suffered ; and, forgetftil
of all the restraints of conventional decorum — following only
the dictates of her own heart — she bent down her head in rever-
ence, and clasped his hand in hers — the hand of her earliest
friend, her preserver ! while Edward, with a flood of tears which
did no shame to the manly fortitude that had shown itself in a
hundred fights, pressed her in his arms and imprinted on her
brow a kiss of respectful and fond affection.

At this moment Lord Mauley re-entered the cottage.

CHAPTER XLIX.

A SUBPBI81U

If the instinctive penetration of woman had not already made
Francesca conscious of the sentiments of Lord Manley towards
her, the look which the young nobleman cast on her and on
Colonel Lacey, at the dubious nature of their too affectionate
greeting, would have revealed his secret.

There was a pause. — ^Matthew and Margaret were absorbed
in wonder, and stood with dilated eyes gsizing on the scene.
The old man was affected to tears, which ran down his furrowed

OB, TH£ BICH A2fD TH£ POOB* ai9

cheeks ; and the dame, working away vigorously with her iipron
to clear her eyes from the copious moisture which prevented
her from seeing distinctly, cried and laughed by turns ; at the
same time she '' found her breath so catched," as she expressed
it, that she was unable, notwithstanding her usual fiicility on
most occasions, to give vent to her surprise in words. Colonel
Lacey, in doubt as to the relation in which Lord Manley stood
with respect to Francesca, was embarrassed, and unable on the
sudden to make up his mind what position to assume : Fraiir
cesca also, from her secret consciousness of Lord Manley's love
for her, was confused and shamed — fearful that her action might
be misinterpreted : while Lord Manley, inexpressibly pidned at
a sight which seemed to blast in a moment all the hopes which
he had so romantically cherished, grew red and pale alternately.
It instantly struck him that the object of Francesca's journey
was to meet the man whom he saw in such familiar understand-
ing with her ; and that the secret of her sudden flight from
London and of her adventurous daring was now explain^
Never had he been so fully sensible of the depth of his passion,
for the humble girl as now when it seemed that all hope of call-
ing her his own was at an end ! Stung with his disappoint-
ment, he might perhaps have let fall, in his sudden pain, some
word expressive of the sharp agony which he was suffering, had
not Margaret, fortunately f cp? the preservation of his pride, reco-
vered her breath. Her tongue began its evolutions immedi-
ately : —

" Gracious goodness ! To think of this I Here 's Ned Lacejr
come back a colonel and a nabobs and the child that was lost is*
found again I and all in a day ! Mercy on me I I think I shall
die with joy, I shall indeed ! Mat, look at her I Did you ever
see any lady half so handsome ? And the very same eyes too I
I declare I was saying to myself, I 've seen those eyes before,,
but where my poor old head couldn't remember 1 How could
it ? for who would ever think that this beautiful lady was the
poor little child that nobody would own — ^how many years ago ?
How long ago is it. Mat ? It was just before the judges came
down with their awful wigs, although there were no 'sises, on
purpose to try those poor people : — let me see : ten, ^deven,
twelve — why it is, must be, nearly sixteen years ago : dearey
me ! how quick time goes ! why, we must be getting quite old
folks now. Mat And you are really the child that Ned—I beg

320 TANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER

his pardon — that Colonel Lacey saved from the Pit I Then yon
have been twice saved ! Well, that is wonderftd indeed I that is
something to talk of! And, if I might make so bold as to ask,
how did you find your father and mother ?"

*' In the presence of you, my kind friends," said Francesca,
" and of my two preservers " (Lord Manley did not like to be
coupled in a bracket with the other preserver after this fashion),
" to whom," continued Francesca, " I can never be sufficiently
grateful — I can have no reserve."

She then related, briefly, how she was saved from the wreck,
and her subsequent history, to which Colonel Lacey listened
with deep interest, politely but keenly scrutinised, as he was
aware, by Lord Manley.

" Sir," said Lord Manley, with aristocratic but freezing
politeness, and a slight tone of bitterness, which emanated from
that instantaneous dislike which he had taken to Colonel Lacey
when he saw him saluting Francesca, " it seems that you are
an old friend of this young lady, and are well acquainted with
all her affairs ?"

" My lord," replied Colonel Lacey, with equal coldness of
manner, and drawing himself up, " I had the delight, as you
have heard, of saving the life of this child — I should rather say,
this young lady — many years ago. Since then I have been
abroad — ^mostly in India — and it is only to-day that I have
returned to this spot, where I passed many years of my life ;
and since that fatal time, when I supposed that this young lady
— ^then a child — was swallowed up in the raging sea on the
American coast, I have never seen her ; nor indeed was I aware
of her happy escape from the general w^eck until this hour,
when chance has so strangely brought us together again — I
. trust for her advantage. And I am delighted to find that the
child whom I regarded, and still regard, if it may be allowed to
me, as a little sister, has gained a powerful friend in yourself,
who have doubtless the will and the means to defend her against
all aggression."

" My dear sir," said Lord Manley, iijamensely relieved by
this candid and straightforward explanation of the soldier, and
seizing the Colonel's hand, which he shook warmly, "I am
delighted to make your acquaintance- Accident allowed me
some time since to have the gratification of rendering a trifling
service to the guardian — the adopted niother — of Miss Sidney j

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 321

and since then — since then... in short — a very dear friend of
mine — Lady Sarum — she has known me from childhood,"
turning to Francesca; "Lady Sarum requested me to make
inquiries respectinoj Miss Sidney, as I was exceedingly anxious —
that is. Lady Sarum was exceedingly anxious to extend her
protection to Fran... to Miss Sidney; and... and... I was about
to propose that Miss Sidney — under the care of Margaret —
should make use of my carriage, which is at the door, to convey
her to Grandborough Castle, where her ladyship will arrive in
a few hours. I may take it upon myself to say that it is her
ladyship's particular and express wish that Miss Sidney — that
is, in the event of my finding her, which happily I have done —
should proceed immediately to the castle ; and perhaps the best
thing to be done now is for us to persuade Miss Sidney — who I
see looks very pale, and who must be exhausted with all the
events of this night — to allow herself to be conveyed to that
which I may call her home without delay."

Colonel Lacey allowed a slight smile to escape him as the
young nobleman indulged in this rapid and characteristic
harangue ; but his smile quickly passed away, and he looked
grave and serious.

" If it were not for your lordship's high and honourable
character," he said, " and for the well-known benevolence and
virtues of Lady Sarum, I should think it my duty to constitute
myself again, and on the spot, the guardian of this young lady.
But in such hands I know that she is safe from all haim. And
let him beware," he added, compressing his lips, " who would
. dare to insult her by word or deed. Francesca," he added, " I
am rich, and that is what the world looks to most ; and I have a
name ; — and remember that you are still my sister, and that I
am your brother and protector. Do ycu accept me as such ?"

" I do," said Francesca in a faint voice, but with the energy
of grateful feeling, and extending her hand to him, but with her
eyes directed to Lord Manley ; " and all the affection of a sister,
and the gratitude of the child whom you preserved, shall be
yours till my last breath."

" Enough," said Lacey ; " it is a compact renewed between
us. Depend on it that my part shall be strictly performed."

*' You will come up to the castle ?" said Lord Manley ; '' I
may make the invitation in Lady Sarum's name." But whether
it was that the invitation lacked the warmth of the young

322 FAHNf, THS LITTLB MII^LlNEB :

nobleman^d previous cordiality — and in truth Lord Manlcy did
not quite relish this making of compacts between the soldier and
Francesca — or that the Colonel had some secret reason for his
refusal, he declined, as he expressed it, *' for the present," to
take advantage of Lord Manlej's politeness. '^ 1 must think of
it," he said to himself ; " my last inyltatlon to the custle was by
a justice's warrant for attending illegal meetings. To be sure
there is a difference between Ned and Colonel Lacey; and
money smooths all difficulties ; but still it is a point that requires
a little consideration.'*

All things being now in readiness, and old Margaret having
equipped herself in a red cloak and a bonnet of most extraordinary
dimensions. Lord Manley mounted the box, 4n order, as he said,,
to have a better view of the road, but really to save Francesca's
delicacy, who, with Margaret only as her companion, occupied
the inside.

Colonel Lacey, having made arrangements for the proper cafe
of his old friend Matthew in his solitary cottage until the return
of Margaret, rode back to the village inn, where he passed the
night. The remarkable events of that day, and the extraordi-
nary beauty of Francesca, had struck him powerfully, and
he for a long time pondered over all the circumstances before
he could find rest for his thoughts in sleep.

Francesca, meanwhile, was conveyed for a second time, bat
in a more imposing manner than before, to the almost regal
mansion of her ancestors. The «ight of the travelling carriage
and four produced a bustle in the castle, where the arrival of
Lady Sarum was hourly expected, and, as the important Mrs.
Buckram declared in after years to Lady SU Austin's house-
keeper, her exclamation seemed like *'an omen and a pro-
phecy ;" '^ for," as that important personage narrated, " naturally
supposing that it was Lady Sarum who had arrived, she called
out in a loud voice to the assembled d<Hnestics in the hall,-—

*' ' Make haste and put yourselves in order ; youe mibtbsss

IB COME r "

OB, THB BICH AND THE POOB. 323

CHAPTER L.

FRANCBSCA AT THE CASTLE.

Great was the surprise of that consequential old lady when,
the door having been opened, a poor woman in an old red cloak
and a bonnet which effectually obstructed the view of all that
was behind her, was kindly assisted from the carriage by Lord
Manley, at the same time that she recognised that nobleman as
he performed the condescending office.

Mrs. Buckram stood aghast at such aflt^tant breach of aris-
tocratic etiquette! but, restrained bjr her respect for Lord
Manley, who she knew was a most intimate friend of the family,
she contrived to contjeal the indignation which was fermenting
within her, and which was outwardly manifested only by the
screwing up of her nose, and by convulrfve jerkings of her head.
But when old Margaret had been safely placed on the broad
marble steps leading to the hall-door, and Lord Manley had
gently as^sted Francesca to alight, the amazement of the house-
keeper could no longer be controlled, and she burst out into an
exclamation of surprise and anger : —

" What ! the Little Milliner again !"

" Mrs. Buckram," said Lord Manley, while Francesca shrank
timidly back, ^' it is the particular desire of Lady Sarum that
every attention be bestowed on this young lady. With this
injunction, therefwe, which you will be pleased to consider as
the injunction of her IcMiyship, I commit her to your care till to-

morrow.'*

It was fortunate perhaps for Francesca that Mrs. Buckram^
excessive curiosity to learn the meaning of her sudden appear-
ance under such protection so far mastered all other emotions
for the time as to lead her to pay eager attention to her, although
her services were not, in truth, very graciously rendered. Fran-
cesca briefly related to the old lady her meeting with Rebecca
at the Pit, and her rescue from the mad woman's frantic project
by Lord Manley.

324 FANNY, THE LITTLJb: MILLINER:

" And what is become of the wicked woman ?" asked the
housekeeper in a little alarm ; '^ is she coming here too ?"

" The poor creatm^e will trouble no one any more," replied
Francesca ; ^' she fell or jumped into the Pit, where she would
have dragged me; and must have met with almost instant
death."

" Arc you sure she jumped down the Pit?" inquired the
housekeeper anxiously.

*' There can be no doubt of it," said Francesca.

'* Thank God for that !" said the housekeeper. " I was
always sure that wicked woman would come to some bad end,
and it serves her right for her wickedness and for her treatment
of me that awful night of the illuminations, when my best
bonnet was crushed and my shawl torn to pieces. Well, she 's
safe at the bottom of the Pit — and that 's some comfort. She
won't worry me again I"

It was perhaps the peculiar satisfaction afforded by the news of
this event, which she considered as a matter personal to herself,
that caused the old lady to relax from her accustomed austerity,
and to treat Francesca with a kindness and consideration that
she was unaccustomed to bestow on persons in humble circum-
stances. She unlocked her heart and her private cupboard at
the same time, and was profuse in her display of all sorts of
refreshments for the wearied traveller ; and when she saw her
comfortably to bed, she promised to come to her the first thing
in the morning, when Miss Sidney, as she said, " could relate to
her all her adventures."

Francesca slept ; but in her troubled slumbers strange visions
arose ; and her dreams were fantastically swayed by the exciting
occurrences of the day, and coloured by her hopes and fears.

She seemed again in her dreams to pass through the events of
her whole life — her rescue in infancy from a dreadful death ;
her escape from shipwreck ; her happy days of childhood ; her
sufferings in poverty ; her night of agony by the bedside of the
dead miUiner-girl ; her adopted mother's death; her perilous
position in the wood ; her meeting with liebecca at the Pit ;
her preservation ! and, throughout all her adventures and her
sorrows, so strange is the wandering of fancy when reason
sleeps, the countenance of one person was ever present — ^and
that person was Lord Manlcy ! But the flights of her imagina-
tion did not rest at the point of her arrival at the castle ; she

OR, Tin: KICII AND THE POOK. 325

seemed to be borne onwards towards futurity. She thought
that she was suddenly transported to a distant country, where a
strange people dwelt ; and none spoke, but all looked at her, and
some pointed, and others regarded her with a mingled expression
of joy and commiseration. Presently she found herself among
high mountains, and was lost in their deep solitudes, where she
wandered long and wearily ; when suddenly she beheld a majestic
cathedral on their extremest summit, and at the porch was the
figure of a female clothed in black, and with a head-dress and
veil of flowing white, but her features were undistinguishable !
The holy woman beckoned to her, she thought, to ascend the
mountain, and it seemed to her that she smiled, but her counte-
nance was enveloped in a mist ! And then there appeared a
long procession of brilliant equipages, of horsemen and footmen
in splendid habiliments, and all with white favours in their
breasts ; and the last carriage that came seemed to her to contain
the persons of Lord Manley and of herself ! nor did it strike her
in her dream as anything incongruous that she should so behold
herself, and possess a sort of double identity I And then the
bells rang out a merry peal, and with the noise Francesca
awoke ! But for a moment she was still under the powerful
impression of her dream. Presently she became aware that it
was the great hall-bell that was ringing in the castle, and ifrom
the broad light and brilliant appearance of the sunshine she
guessed that she had slept until an unusually late hour of the
mornin^c.

A knock at the door and the sound of a female voice now
demanded her attention, and the door opening disclosed the fat
and square face of Mrs. Buckram, who in a most condescending
manner, which it was plain she desired to appear extremely
amiable, and which was due to some judicious hints infused into
her by Lord Manley, inquired " how Miss Sidney had passed
the night"

'* Bless me I" said the housekeeper, officiously examining
Francesca's dress ; " why, you can never put on this dress again;
it is torn all to bits ; positively all to shreds, and mourning is
always so flimsy ! Sorry for your loss, miss ; it 's a sad thing to
lose a friend in this friendless world ! But you are not without
a friend, miss," she said, nodding her head and smiling with all
her might and with peculiar significance.

" Lady Sarum," said Francesca, ** is a most benevolent
lady "

326 FANirr, t^e little uiulotkri

^^ Ah I it '8 not of Lady Samm that I was talking ; — ^but
never mind ; those that live will see what they will live to see !"

With this sage observation Mrs. Buckram retired and left
Francesca to make her toilet at the magnificent dressing-table
which had been placed in that apartment for gnests whom tiie
ladj of the mansion espedallj delighted to honour ; and ia
wUch, in the hurrj and confnsion of the night b^ore, Francesca
had been unthinkingly placed by the bewildered housekeeper.

Francesca during the whole of the day wondered that Lord
Manley did not appear ; but that generous and considerate no-
bleman well knew that, if he paid particular attention to A£ss
Sidney, his motives might be remarked and misconstrued by
the numerous household of the castle ; and he felt also that his
introduction of Francesca to his Mend's house, although in the
qnrit of Lady Sarum's kind expressions towards Miss Sidney,,
was not borne out by the strict letter of her ladyship's permisr
aion. From this consideration, he felt that it was necessary ior
him to be doubly circumspect in his conduct and bearing towards,
her, as well for her own sake as from the respect due to the
pleasure of Lady Sarum in the matter. To avoid temptation,
t}ierefore, he determiped to leave the castle at an early hour,
and to employ hiis tune in paying a visit to Colonel Lacey, and
ia endeavouring to learn from him and from old Matthew some,
fiurther pai^ticulArs relating to Francesca.

Mrs. Buckram was excessiv^y inquisitive as to the whole
history of Francesca from beginning to end, which she made
her repeat voore ihsui once in its minutest details, which set the
odd lady a-meditating profoundly. The narration of her story^
however, passed away the time, and made Francesca feel less
the awkwardness of her situation than she otherwise wjould h^ve
doQe ; though at times she could not help feeling some misgiv-
ings., as to the sort of reception which she should receive, from
the mktress of the mansion. In thk way the day gr«dnaUy
wore on, and ip. the afternoon the airival of Lord Grapdbo-
ropgh's courier announced the near, approach of the fa^nily, apd
Francesca's heiart began to palpitate. Her ladyship's first vx^
quiry, couildFrstKicescahave heard it, wouldhave dispelled hi^rfeai^

'^ Miss Sidpey," said her ladyship to Mrs. Buckram^ "is here,^
if she< not ?"

*' Yes, my lady. I did not know how to act, i?jy lady ; hi^\
my Lord Manley was so positive in sayipg that it \fm your
ladyship's instructions-otherwise......"

OB, THB RICH AND THB POOB. 327

*' It is quite right," said Lady Sarum. " I met Lord Manley
at the Moorside inn, and he has explained everything to me,"

" Who is Miss Sidney ?" asked Lord Grandborougk

" You shall know in good time," replied his daughter-in-law.
'^ Bequest Miss Sidney/' she added to the housekeeper, ^* to let
me see her in my dressing-room."

Lfuly Sarum was much ezcited when Franceeea entered : she
was walking up and down the apartment ; it was the same in
which she had suffered so much pain firom that remarkable con-
versation with her husband consequent on Rebecca's communi-
cation to her many years ago. The circumstance recurred to
her memory, and a crowd of thoughts, rushing through her
br^n, for a few nunutcs saddened and confused her. The
hfMBty eommuxucation of Lord Manley had been sufficient to
show thi^t Franoesca was, without question, and could positively
be proved to be, the child who was saved from the White Wo-
man's Pit on that memorable night to which she traced the
sorrowful abstraction of her husband for so many years. Neither
could she divest herself of a certain feeling of resiliency from
one whose existence interfered with the entirety of her own
rights as the wife of Lord Sarum, and whose parent on the
female side might even yet become to her a cause of deeper
mortification and of greater suffering. And this child, either
by some extraordinary involvement of circumstances, or by
some mysterious fate which could not be controlled, seemed to
pursue her in her domestic retirement, and to be forced on her,
willing or unwilling to receive her 1 — It was under the jealous
dominion of such thoughts that she oow again found the girl in
her presence.

She motioned to Miss Sidney to sit down. ^

Fisaees^ obeyed in silence.

After a few more turns, during which it seemed Lady Sarum
was considering how to address her guest, she [^topped before
her). FraneesQ^r stood up, but Lady Sarum again motioned.to her
to sit dowHf

" The interest which a nobleman has been pleased to ts^ke in
your wel&re," h«r ladyship b^an-^Fanny blushed deeply, but
sh&did not shrink from the gaze of Lady Sarum as her lady-
ship fixed her eyes on her ; there was «o expression of modert
ppde (m the features of the young girl wjldch struck Lady Sanim
forcibly : she changed her exordium :-^

328 FANXY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

The extraordinary circuinjitaiiees which have caused you to
become an inmate of this castle

Franccsca rose from her chair : —

'• Madam," she said, '' it was not I who sought to become an
inmate of this mansion ; it was others" (here Francesca coloured
(Icei)ly) " who conveyed to me what was represented as the ex-
press desire of your ladyship ; for myself, I am well aware that
iny humble condition is unsuited to the high sphere in which
your ladysliip moves, and tliat I have no other claim on yoi^r
l:idysliii)'s benevolent consideration than my misfortunes, and
the mystery which shrouds the bu'th of one so friendless and de-
solate as I am.

At this allusion to " tlie mystery which shrouded her birth,"
a peculiar expression came over the usually placid features of
Lady Sarum, and her whole frame was seized with a sl^ht
shuddering. Slie abruptly turned from Francesca, and, advancing
to the window, which commanded a view of the magnificent
gardens attaclied to the castle, remained for a few minutes In
an attitude of earnest contemplation. At last, without turning
her head, and more as if speaking aloud to herself than asking
a direct question, she said : —

" AVhat could have induced the girl to undertake her hazard-
ous journey ?"

" It was hope, madam — the earnest desire to discover my
parents ; and the promise of that wretched woman led me to
believe that she possessed the knowledge of that secret "

*' And did she tell you ?" said the peeress, hastily turning
round, while her countenance, crimsoned and confused with
shame and jealousy, exhibited the most intense curiosity.

'' No, madam. The poor woman's intellects were not in a
condition to allow her to speak on any subject connectedly;
but "

'' But what ?"

*' She made use of an expression which, overwhelmed as I
was with fear, seemed to have allusion to my father "

"Well?"

" There seems to be some tradition relating to that fatal Pit,
with which I am imperfectly acquainted. But, after all, it was
only the ravings of a mad w^oman. Still it is certain that she
had some knowledge of matters that related to* me... but it is all
80 confused "

^' What did she say?"

OB, THE RICH AND TH£ POOR. 399

Francesca paused at this question. — The anxious counte-
nance, the searching look, and the hurried and unsteady voice
with which it was asked by Lady Sarum, filled her with ex-
treme surprise, for she could not account for the extraordinary
interest which the i)eere8s took in an inquiry respecting one so
humble as herself, and which seemed to be prompted by some
hidden and powerful motive. She rapidly recalled to her mind
the remarkable words of the mad woman ; but their meaning
was as unintelligible as the whole scene was confused and
frightful to her recollection. She remembered distinctly, how-
ever, the strange assertion of Rebecca in respect to some wrong
committed on her, as she said, by Francesca's father. As she
was revolving these thoughts in her mind, Lady Sarum, in a
low and earnest tone, repeated her question : —

•^ What did she say ?•*

^^ She said," replied Francesca, ^' that my father and my
father's &ther had wronged her ; and it was that thought that
prompted her in her madness to take revenge on me.^

" And who were those did she say who had done her the
wrong you speak of ?"

^^ She did not tell me ; — but one thing is certain ; and that
perhaps may assist me in my search ; it is certain that I am the
child who was saved from the Pit by Colonel Lacey about six-
teen years ago ; and it seems that I am indebted to Lord Sarum
for the interest he took in my wel&re at that time.''

" Indeed P'

*' And, in being indebted to him, I feel that I am indebted to
your ladyship, who are so nearly and dearly related to him ; and
I confess that, when I heard these things, I flattered myself that
I might obtain your ladyship's countenance in pursuing an in-
vestigation which is the aim and object of my life."

" Repeat to me," said Lady Sarum, with a view to obviate
the necessity of her giving an immediate reply to the request
contained in Francesca's expression of gratitude for her hus-
band's early care of her in her infancy ; ^* repeat to me all that
has happened to you since you left London."

Francesca obeyed. With the most sincere artlessness, and
with touching pathos, she related the secret thoughts and aspi-
rations which tempted her to undertake her journey ; the agony
of her fear during her adventure in the wood ; the extremity of
her peril white she was hanging in the grasp of the mad woman

z

330 FANNY, xm: UTTtE MILUNEB:

over the dreadful abyss of the Pit ; and her rescue by Lord
Manley : here she became slightly conAised in her narration^
and she rapidly passed to her meeting with Colonel Iiacey in
the woodman's cottage. As she proceeded in her talQ the kind
heart of the compassionate peeress became gradually softened ;
she forgot that she was listening to the 9tory of the daughter of
one who might still beoome a rival in the afiecUonp of her hus-
band ; she saw before her only the a£Ucted and dasolate girl»
exposed in her tender youth to so many sorrows, to so many
privations, to so many perils ; and when Frapoesoai gTQwing
energetic in her tale, appealed to ihe poble-hearted lady as the
daughter of iv noble house — as one of the matrons of Englimd—
as one of those whom, God had set in high places to e:i^tend their
protection to the lowly and unfortunate — tQ assist her in. her-
forlorn condition, Lady Sarum could no longer resist the
pathetic appeal to her duty and hei: feelings i — and^, icai^n^ up
the weeping Fn^ncesca) who was kneeling at her feet,, ^he
tenderly eiporaced her, as she said, with her ^yeg qqjBEu^^ with
tea^, —

** My poor child, your lot has indeed be^ii a. sad one I — ^But
X will protect you :— yes, come what may, I will protect ygu :
aiiid, by the blessing of God, your sufferings ar& now perhaps at

an end. — ^Butyet; — there arQ iieajBone Stay: sit 4own here

— I win retvrn. to you presently.'*

Scarcely had Lady barum made her promise of protection,^,
before she was seized with a feeling of the extreme delicacy and
embarrassment qi tha presence of the girl as an inmate of the
qastle ; n^ithcir was the consideration of the position in which she
should appear less perplexing. But as it was necessary to decide
thie point without delay, she determined to take advantage of
the presence oi her mother and consult her on the subject.
Wound up as Lady Sarum's feelings were by her exciting iat(Qr-
yiew with ^rapcesca, she felt the courage to take a step which,
at any otlier time she would have shrunk from — that of confess-
ipg to her mother all her suspicions in respect to the relatioQship.
of Francesca to her husband. She found Lady St, Austin not
quite unprepared to receive her commuiucation ; though doubtful
and iindetermined as to the propriety of Francesca remaining at the
castle. lu this state of indeqisiQU shq prevailed oa her daughter
tp allow h^r to call her &ther to her council, who eiqpresaed the
■ajme doubt as her mother as to the prudence of dpui^sticating

OB, THE RICH AND THE POOB. 331

the ^1 in the faoiily. Locd St Austin observed that, as this
Colonel Lacey had returned from India, as it seemed, with a
large fortune and with a certain sort of rank, though in a
foreign service, it was possible that he might turn his dioughts
to a marriage with Miss Sidney ; as the difference in the ages
of the parties was not sufficient to act as a bar to the union.
Lady Samm hinted that Lord Manley had been much struck
with the beauty of Francesca,^ but any serious intentions
on his part were laughed at as too ridiculous. Lady St Austin
sttgS^ested that^ if there was any chance of this Colonel Lacey
being tempted to marry the girl, it might be a furtherance of
that desirable consummation if the girl were to be taken up by
her daughter and the countenance of the family afforded to her
in effecting a desirable match. But stilly as she said, there was
no positive certainty that the girl was the daughter of Lord
Sarom ; and Lord St. Austin ridiculed the idea of turning a
very usual occurrence with young men before marriage into the
grave afikir that they were making of it, and that, if the girl
really was the fruit of some passing liaison of Lord Sarum before
he had contracted his alliance with their family, the only thing
to be done was to arrange the afiair quietly, and get llie girl
decently married and so have done with her.

Lady Sarum observed that she had for some time past had a
strong suspicion that Lord Grandborough knew more of the
matter than any one else ; upon which Lord St. Austin said
that nothing was more likely ; but, such being the case, it was
proper that her father-in-law should be made acquainted with
the state of the case — especially as it was in his house that they
were discussing the question — ^and his opinion and advice taken
on the occasion. The propriety of this step was concurred in at
once, and Lord St. Austin proceeded immediately to speak to
the Earl in the library.

Lord Gh^ndborough received his friend's communication at
first with extreme agitation ; but as Lord St. Austin narrated the
prominent parts of Francesca's history^ he became more calm,
and was exceedingly particular in making himself acquainted
with the precise nature of the case. He at once and decidedly
gave his opinion that the yotmg lady had better be placed under
ibt care of some fit person at a distance from the castle, and the
farther off th^ better; but on Lord St. Austin representing
tlMit, from the description he had heard of the girl, and judging '

z 2

332 VAKsrr, the littls miulineb:

from the energy which she had abready displajed in her endea^^
vours to discover her parents, that it was not likely that she
would consent to leave a spot where she had already learned
important particulars respecting herself; that as yet she had no
susfncion, apparently, of who her father was — not that it mattered
a rush in his opinion, but that his daughter was sensitiTe about
it, and that it was better to confine her story to themselveSy
and keep her quiet ; the Earl immediately changed his ofMnion,
and recommended that the girl should be kept as much as
possible from external communications. With respect to the
position which Miss Sidney should assume in the family, the
Earl, after some deliberation, expressed his opinion that it
would be better, on the whole, that she should be treated as a
companion or prot^^e of Lady Sarum's, which would have the
effect of keeping her distinct from the household, and enable
them to keep her more under their own eyes ; and he added,
rather suddenly , that, as hehaddiangedhismind astohis inten-
tion of making a length^ied stay at the castlej he thought it
wonld be conducive to hia heidth to make a tour throngh
Germany with as little delay as. possible*

Lord St. Austin having reported the opinion of Lord Grand-
borough to his wife and daughter, who were anxiously awaiting
the result of the conference, it was resolved that a message
should be immediately despatched to Colpnel Lacey w;th the yieW:
of making him a friend in the matter and with reference also to
Miss Sidney, inviting him to dine at the castle that day ; and
Lord Manley being announced at the close of the conference, he
immediately volunteered to bring the Colonel back with him,
while a note was despatched by one of the servants of the castle,
bearing a card of formal invitation from Lord Grandborougk

This matter being so far satisfactorily arranged, the next
point with the ladies was to make known the arrangement to
Miss Sidney, who received the communication without any
particular emotion. As Francesca's garments had been sadly
deranged by her flight in the wood and her struggles with
Rebecca, Lady Sarum's tiring-woman was commissioned to
make such arrangements in respect to Miss Sidney's dress as
time and circumstances allowed. Francesca being in mournings
this was an affair of some little difficulty ; but by an energetic
rummaging of the wardrobe, an antique dress of black velvet
was discovered which had belonged to the widow of the late

OR, THE BICH AND TH£ POOR. 335

tiord Grandboroughy who had been a sparkling brunette in her
time of considerable pretensions to personal beauty. As Lady
Sarum, leading Francesca by the hand, passed through the
picture-gallery to the dining-room, Francesca^s eyes were
naturally attracted by the portraits uf the ancestors of the noble
fiunily who had now taken her under their protection. She in-
Toluntarily stopped before one, which was the portrait of the
lady whose habit she then wure, and whose likeness had been
taken, it appeared, either in that very dress or in one precisely
similar to it. The laiy's head in the picure was slightly turned
ek) as to display to advantage her handsome profile; and as Lady
Santm glanced from Franccscai to the picture, she was struck by
the family likeness so forcibly, that she was troubled, pnd for a
moment paused ; but, quickly recovering herself, she passed on
to the dining-room, and the repast wiia finished without any
particular occurrence excepting 'tJie reniark of the butler to Lord
Q^Wboi^mgh's talfet otitside, tSat the " new young lady seemed
bom to lier place, '"^hich was moi'e that! he could say of many.''
A calm now appeared to su6ceed to the tumults of the pre-
vious night, and Francesca alknost indfulged in the hop^ that, at
laoty she hfld reached a haven wb^ she should find, at least, a
temporary re^t. Bui hei' present tranquillity was unexpectedly
disturb^ by a new event, which put to their utmost trial the
prudence and tiie susceptibility of her head and heart.

CHAPTER LL

A DECLAHATION.

If the secret thoughts that agitated the personages who were
assembled at the sumptuous repast in that baronial hall could have
been known to the respectful servitors who ministered to their
minutest wants, their exalted stations would have be3n far from
exciting the envy of the humblest of their observers.

Lord Grandborough, who had requested Lord St. Austin to

334 FANNT, TOE UTTJUS MIU^INSE :

do th9 honours of the host, eat oppoatte to Franoeaosy eo that he
Qould not raiao his eyes without beholding the object whom he
most dreaded to see. Thus he remained in themost painfiil state
of fear lest some unexpected accident which he could neither
guard against nor foresee should reveal the terrible secret, at the
same time that he marvelled at the strange course of events
which hadf a second time, brought him in dose communion with
one whom, it seemed, the finger of Providence had directed to
her rightful home. Lady Sarum sat uneasily at the head of the
table, her mind confused and perplexed by the presence of the
mysterious girl who^ she had reason to suspect, stood in the
closest relation to her husband ; and whose position in the
family, delicate and imdefined as it was, seemed to threaten a
continuance of embarrassments and diflScultiea. Lord St Aus-
tin, as well as his wife, was out of hmnour with everything ;
he did not like the trouble of regulating his attentions and his
phrases to the new guest who was in a false position in the
family ; besides, he was troubled with some vague suspicions,
which as yet, however, had neither form nor substance, in respect
to Lord Grandborough's knowledge of Miss Sidney, and of his
old friend's former interference in the affair. Lady St. Austin,
too, was worried with the idea that there was more in the history
of the young stranger than met the eye ; not that she had any
suspicion of the truth ; but the agitation of Lord Grandborougb
on former occasions, the journey of Lord Sarum to Italy, and
the distinguished appearance and ease of manner of Francesca,
puzzled her ; she was impatient for the dinner to conclude, in
order that she might retire with her daughter and hold converse
with her on all these circumstances. Nor was Colonel Lacey
less disturbed in his mind by the sudden events which had
brought him in his novel position in respect to his former foster-
sister, and by the embarrassing awkwardness of his situation in
respect to the family of Grandborouph. He, too, could not help
being struck with the remarkable beauty and the distinguished
air of Francesca, who, instead of presenting the appearance of
one suddenly and unfitly elevated from a mean and humble state
to a superior sphere, seemed only to have resumed her natural
position. CTnconsoiously he threw into his manner towards her
a deference and a desire to please which, he was aware, was in-
congruous with his adopted character of g^uardiao, and which was
not unmarked by others. .

OR; TttE men AKD THE POOB. 335

Ab to FtanCeMa, she wad not Without her own ihwArd troubles.
She could not but be aware that Lord Manley not only admired
her, but that he was inspired with a Warinelr fe^ng, which
ile&aied ever on the point of betrayittg itself, but whi6b| she
was Conscious, he assiduously checked* Noi^ could she dis-
gcuse ^m herself — a hct which filled her At tii^es With the
lUOdt lively alarm — that heir oWli feelingd towafds that eiccom-
plished young nobleman were such lis she ieared to acknowledge
and did not dare too closely to investigate. She felt that the
humbleness of her condition, and the obscurity of her parentage,
formed an effectual bar to an Union with a nobleman so fdr her
superior in birth, fottune, Atxd pretensions ; and she Could not
smother a feeling of bitter tegret that the accidents of Fort;une
forbade her to indulge in her pleasing predilection foi* one who
had 60 many qualifications superior to those of birth ot fottune
to reeommend him to her preference. It was gladly, therefore,
that she turned to Colonel Lacey, who sat by her side, and
rq^arded him with an affection which she consideted as legiti-
nMitely and gratefully his due, and replied to his conversation
with looks of trust and confidence which spoke mote thitn Wof ds
the feelings which prompted theii^ exhibition.

On his part. Colonel Lacey treated her with It tdnddt soli-
citude which partook partly of parental or fraternal regard, and
partly of a feeling which he could not himself exactly define,
but which Lord Manley, who sat opposite, with the instinctive
penetration of a lover, defined for him with a feeling of jealousy
which he could scarcely disguise. In truth, that enthusiastic
yonng nobleman was by no means at hid ease in respect to Colonel
Lace^'s attention to Francedca. He had the highest I'espect for
those Sacred principles of generosity and disinterested affection
which doubtless might possibly alone dCtuate het self-adopted
guardian. But still to see such attention^ paid by-$ hand^me
soldier of five-and-thirty, although the affection that prompted
them might be quite platonic. Was, to say the least of it, exces-
idvely disagreeable. Besides^ accustomed as he was to see
marriages take place where the difference of age Was not less
decided than in the present case, and inclined as he was, from
the habits of thought engendered by his aristocratic position^ to
regard such unions rather favourably than otherwise, he saw no
obstacle on that score to prevent an union faking place between

336 FAjEorr, tbs littlb mili^ines:

th$r present parties of a nature different from that of brother and
sister*

With such feelings, therefixe, sharpened as they were by the
obvious desirability of the matoh^ which somehow he fanded
was in course of being promoted by Lady St. Austin and by
Lady Sarum, he yiewed the propinquity of Francesca with the
C!olonel, and the apparent cordial understanding between them,
with that restlessness, and with those twitchiogs of the heart,
which will be readily sympathised with by tiioee who have been
exposed to similar trials.

It is to be observed, also, that Francesca's bearing on the
present oocadon enhanced her charms in a wonderful dcjgree:
she shone like a diamond in a chaste and skiliul setting ; brilliant
in itself^ but rendered more dazzling by the striking relief
which acts and circumstances added to its native bri^tness.
The rather statdy manner which seemed inconsistent with the
humble condition of a milliner-girl now became her as fitting
and appropriate* As he gazed on her, resplendent in her youth-
ful beauty, charming with an air of ease and grace sli^tly
blended with a certain shrinking and bashfulness which rather
improved than lessened her attractions, it seemed to him that
the noble brow which adorned her would well become a coronet^
and that her form and features bore the impress of one of
Nature's own nobility I

It was with such feeUngs that he found his way after dinner
to the library. Lady Sarum and her mother had retired to tiie
dressing-room of the former to enter into some serious talk ; —
Colonel Lacey had taken leave early, for he found himself dis-
turbed with confused emotions, and he was desirous of com-
muning in secret with his own thoughts. The soldier was in
the habit Df coining to prompt decisions ; and he felt tho neces-
sity of tracing out, resolutely and at once, the fitting line of
conduct to be pursued towards a beautiful girl thus suddenly
presenting herself to him, and who had grown up as it were in
a night from the forlorn and helpless child whom he had saved
to the stature and bearing of a youthful womanhood which it
was impossible to look on without admiration ! Neither was he
easy in respect to Lord Manley's feelings or pretensions towards
Francesca; and he determined to watch that nobleman nar-
rowly, and, if necessary, to bring him to a speedy declaration in

OR, THE IIICII AND THE POOR. 337

respect to his intentions. — Lord Grandboroagh had shut himself
up in his private study, leaving Lord St. Austin to the enjoy-
ment of his usual after^linner nap in the dining-room. When
Lord Manley entered the library, therefore, he found Fraaeesca
alone.

Francesca was engaged in examining a picture of Lord Sarum
which was suspended at the further end of the room, so ear^
nestly that she was not aware of his entrance ; and as she stood
with one arm resting on the back of an antiquely-carved library
chair, with her head a little thrown back, he thought he had
ndrer in his life beheld a form and face so enchantingly lovely.
He approached ; — and at the sound of his step, though scarcely
to be heard on the soft carpet, Francesca turned her head, and
as she saw him she blushed deeply. He came nearer to her,
but suddenly stopped; — then glancing round the room, and
seeming to make up his mind to a sudden resolve, he approached
her again. There was a fixed determination in his eye which
struck Francesca forcibly; she divined intuitively that some
explanation was coming. — ^A slight mist came over her eyes ;
she felt for a moment — but only for a moment — a little faint ;
and fihe sat down. Before she had entirely recovered her com-
posure, Lord Manley spoke, and in the solitude of the vast
apartment his voice startled her !-^It was thick and inarticulate,
though usually so melodious and clear: — a voice that betrayed,
unmistakingly, the passionate txouble of the agitated feelings
within.

" Miss Sidney "

Francesca made no answer, but looked as if she would give
worlds to be alone in her own room.

" Miss Sidney," he continued,** I hardly know whether I
may take the liberty to make any observation on your private
affairs ; but — I cannot avoid being powerfully affected by the
extraordinary circumstances of your eventful life."

" My lord," said Francesca, in a low and trembling voice,
and with her eyes cast down, "it is to you that I owe that life."

" And to Colonel Lacey also," quickly remarked Lord Man-
ley ;'— " to Colonel Lacey also ; he it was who had the happiness
to preserve you in your infancy."

^*' It is true, my lord. Colonel Lacey was my first and earliest
friend."

338 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

" To whom," said Lord Manley, " your'* (he paused at the
word) — *^your gratitude is first and chiefly due.**

^^ My gratitude and love, my lord; and to you al8o««.....i8 due
•..my...most earnest gratitude."

There was a pause. —

^< You said that your gratitude was due to Colonel Lacey , and
your love also."

*' I did, my lord ; how can I ever attempt to repay the
obligation which I owe to him, except by boundless gratitude
and love?"

*'But to me," said Lord Manley, "you swd— was due

only gratitude !"..«...

** My lord 1"

" You have gratitude and love for Colonel Lacey^ — for me
gratitude alone !"

** My lord I"

" Is there, then, no love left for others ?"

" My lord !" said Francesca, starting up, her face and neck
crimsoning with blushes — "my lord, would you oppress me
with the amount of my obligation to you ! Do I not feel," she
said, clasping her hands, *^ how deep is my debt to you, who
saved me from so dreadful a death? Would to God that I
could show the gratitude which my heart feels ; but that must
be for ever impossible !"

** Miss Sidney," returned Lord Manley, in a low, deep voice,
"you could show it, if you would "

Francesca sank down again in her chau-.

" God forbid," said Lord Manley, with deep earnestness,
**that I should seek from your gratitude the return which I
would desire to find from a diflerent feeling..."

Francesca placed her hands before her eyes; biit the tears
gushed through her fingers, and her bosom heaved whh an
emotion, as it seemed, too violent to be borne.

" But," pursued Lord Manley, *' the life which it has
pleased God to permit me the infinite happiness of preserving...
in short—in truth — Miss Sidney — you cannot mistake my

meaning if you would allow me to hope that I might

devote my own life to your future happiness "

" My lordl my lord! stop— I implore you..."

" I Cimnot stop, Fi-ancegca — I will not stop. It is im-

OB» THE KICH AND THE POOU. 339

possible for you not to have perceived *«*to have felt ^ my admi-
ration — ^my love — for you.*^

** It is impossible."

'^ Impossible! Francescal what is impossible? Am I not
my own master ? have I not rank and fortune to offer you?..."

^* It is for those very reasons," said Franoesca, recovering
herself, and speaking more firmly ; ^' for those very reasons
that what you point at — for it would be a false modesty on my
part to pretend not to understand you— •is impossible."

" Miss Sidney," said Lord Manley, thunderstruck at the
reply of an humble and parentless girl to the generous offer
of his hand and heart, and his thoughts reverting to the in-
convenient Gcdonel Lacey, who somehow, his jealousy expected,
was in the way on this occasion; *^i£ previous engagements on
your part "

" Oh, my lord 1 it is not that !"

^^ Or if a disinclination towards myself. ••"

^' Oh, no T' said Francesca, sobbing afresh, and thrown off
her guard — "it is not that 1"

** It is not that ?" exclaimed Lord Manley. *' Then,
Francesca, I entreat you — ^I implore you — ^to tell me — ^if it
were not for sooEne obstacles with which I am at present un-
acquainted— *might I venture to hope that it is not on account
of any personal disinclination to myself that you have filled me
with so much sorrow — 1 might almost add," said the young
nobleman, in a tone of the deepest emotion — " of despair !"

** Lord Manley," said Francesca, still faltering and trem-
bling— ^ you are abusing your claims on my gratitude to force
me to rejdy to such a question. But I owe it to myself to say
that I never knew any one from whom I should have desired to

hear that which you have told me, and I never but it is

impossible, my lord; I should not be worthy of thc.of the...
good opinion which you express of me, if I should allow you to
contract an alliance so unequal Believe me, my lord, it would
afterwards cause you, perhaps, the bitterest regret ; for you are
a peer of the realm — high in birth, in fortune, and in name !
And what am I ? an orphan, without fortune, without even a
home, but this hcwne of charity— without even a name more
than that" — ^taking her cross from her bosom—-** which this has
given to me !"

" Beauty and worth," exclaimed Lord Manley, with en-

340 FANNT, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

thusiasm, /Mevel all distinctions I and if I am content," he
added^ ^^ why, Francesca, should yon make objections so
unusual ?"

^' I object,", my lord, ^' said Francesca, her cheeks reddening
and her eyes kindling with the generous sentiments that inspired
her resolution," for your own sake. If, my lord," — and here
she hesitated and spoke with trembling accents, '^ I was insen-
sible to your great and generous qualities ; — if I — esteemed —
you less, I might have the less scruple in allowing you to sacri-
fice yourself— that is, your rank and your position in society — for
me "

'* You do not quite refuse me then," said Lord Manley.

** That is not the word," replied Franoesca, ** to express the
determination to which my duty and my gratitude prompt me ^
it is because I am penetrated, deeply penetrated, wi^ a i^nse of
your noble generosity, that my own pride — and why should I be
ashamed to own it after what yott loire said?^-«iy bwn feelings
— towiird** you— rf bfbid me to aHew -yott to^ stippose that my
deteniiiimtion can €JVer be shaken!" • "<■'- ' '^" ■'- ' ■

*' Francesca!" .: .*v ;:■• >

*^Ititoti8t not be! It ciannot belYoU,' my lord; have io
fulfil the high duties in the world to which God has called you:
As forme! I am iiothingi All that I ask you now is to leave
me — ^leave the poor nameless orphan to her obscurity a^nd hef
sonx>ws ! God forbid ihst I should make you the Bharer of
them! •

" Francesca!''

^* No, my lord, mj sorrows must be for me alone ! But this
b a new affliction! Oh! would that I had perished in that
fiightful pit rather than give a moment's pain to one whom —
No ! even that dreadful death cotdd not be so horrible as the
agony of this stru^le that I suffer now T' Here poor Fran-
cesca, torn by conflicting emotions, burst into a passionate flood
of tears.

Lord Manley gazed at her with admiration. " Wonderful
girl I" he exclaimed, falling on his knee and seizing her hand,
which she in vain endeavoured to withdraw from him ; " great
as was my love and admiration for you, I was not prepared for
disinterestedness so exalted as this! Now hear me while I
swear "

" Swearing going forward I" cried out Lady St. Austin, as

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 341

Francesca hastily left the room ; " why, what is the meaning of
all this ? Aoting plays, my lord ?"

" No acting," said Lord Manley, rising up, and a little con-
fused at being surprised in so energetic a position, ^^ but earnest,
downright earnest "

" My dear Lord Manley," said Lady Sorum; " is it possible
that you haye been making a declaration to that girl ?"

^^ It is so," said Lord Manley^ '' and something more."

" More I How more ?"

*^ I have made her an offer of my hand."

^^ Made her an offer !" exclaimed the astonished peeresses both
at once. ^^ This is astonishing indeed I"

^^ There is something more astonbhing still," said Lord
Manley bitterly, and with considerable excitement

^' Mx>re astonishing still I We are all amazement What is
it?"

** She has refused me^ Lady Sarumu"
^ The little milliner refused Earl Manley I Impossible I
What! has Lord Manley 's pride stooped 00 low^ and to he
refused after all I How can that be ?"

^' Because, my dear Lady Sarum, the pride of this wonderful
girl is gpreater still."

f^ A mystery I Come^ you have told ua so much you must
tell us more*"

r ^^ Perhaps," said Lord Manley, ^' if you had xiot surprised me
and my secret too, when you caught me on my knees, my pride
would have led me to conceal my failure. But ra^^ than; the
breath of suapiidpn r9h$>idd. fiill. on ^at jaatphlessigirl, X will
c(Hi^£^ the mortifiqatioq, q|: the refusal that J, M^V0 met with.
But even hei: refusal makes me love and admire her i^ore thfim
eyerl"; .; .-. /• ,, • ■•••:••• ^^

^^: 'My dear lord," said Lady Sarum, with a mournful smile ;
^^ consider that we are women and that we are dying of
curiosity."

** Listen then," said Lord Manley, " and I will tell you all."

342 FANNV^ THE LITTLE MILLINER:

CHAPTER LIL

CONVXSBIOVS*

As Lord Manley had passed the gfeater part of his life tmder
the care and at the house of Lord St Austin, his guardian, he
had been accustomed to regard the two ladies who had discovered
him on his knees before Francesca as his dearest friends ; and
as his secret was now known to them^ he had no reason for
reserve in confessing his passion for the orphan ^1, and the
result of bis declaration.

^ But this really exceeds aS belief!* said Lady St Austin
when Lord Manley had concluded his explanation^ at the end
of which Lady Sarum abruptly left the room : — ^**that a young
girl without a home and without prospects should refuse an offer
from one of the first and richest peers in Hhe kingdom I There
must be something more at the bottom of this than we are
aware of? Perhaps it is only to secure him the better,'^ she
said aloud to hersdf : — ^' these nrilliner^rls^ I have heaid say,
are the most artful hfusseys in nature ?*

" You do her wrong/* said Lord Manley ; ** I feel convinced
that her reAisal proceeds entirely from a jMincipte of generosity
and the most noble disinterestedness !"

Lady St. Austin shook her head : — " I doubt it — Wett, at
any rate, you are well rid of the matter^ Manley. But it wotdd
not soiund w«n — would it? — for the world to know that the
Earl Manley had been refused by a little milliner I There^-^
confess Ae truth : you have played the fool a bit — a little wick-
edly perhaps — ^but there 's an end of it libw. Only — ^take my
advice, and don't make the offer again Well, my dear Elea-
nor," she said to Lady Sarum, who re-entered the room, ^^ what
news do you bring? Does the young lady relent, and show any
inclination to take pity on this unhappy swain?"

^^ She is a most extraordinary ^1 T said Lady Sarum. ^^ She

OR, TH£ KICH AND THE POOR. 343

has been to me to ask my permission to withdraw &om the
castle..."

'* And where would she go to?" eagerly asked Lord Manley.

^' That point she did not seem to have taken into sufiScient
eonsideratioiL But as she is aware that my lord here is domi-
eiled with us for some time to come^ she may perhaps be desirous
of avoiding him..."

'^ Not she>" said Lady St. Austin ; ^' it is some art, depend
upon it"

^^ Dear mother," said Lady Samm, ^' indeed I think you are
uiistaken.*^There certainly is something about this girl that

haa a strange influence over one; perhaps it is " (Here

she looked at her mother, who became suddenly grave and
reflective.) '^ But, dear Lord Manley," she continued^ redden-
i«g and iu «ome cooiuston» there are reasons^-at least I think
aa-'r^whjjr jou should entirely give up aU thoughts of this girL..''

'^ What reasons," asked Xiord Manley, much surprised^
^' m^re. tbau those which I already know ?"

^^ Ther^ are particular circumstances," replied Lady Sairum^
'^ which would render it exceedingly wrong for me and my
VKoibc^r to forward* in any n^anner an engagement on your part
with oue*«,who*««»«-In short, it is a secret wiuch I am not at
liher^ to Qoeutionr^but, in. truth, it entirely precludes the posr*
sibiUty„ I xnay say, of your eiitering into a matrimonial aUdanca
with this Miss Sidney. Naw, with that Colonel Lacey it would
be another thing ; but with you^-Hiituated as we are towards*
jQU especially-wn short, perhaps the best thing is to allow the
girl to retire, and so get rid of the difficulty* Perhaps Colonel
Liacey would take her at once with, a little encouragement?
What do you think, mother?"

^' BeaUy, my lave, it is an awkw^fd qjaestion---*but that seems
the best plan%"

'* Upon my word, my dear friends," said Lord Manley, **yott
veeiHy treat me with very little ceremony. It seems ttuit you
think that I am not in earnest in my avowal to jOK^r^l bad
hp^d tliat yout knew me better."

^' But isi it possible,, then, that, you are really in earnest io,
oBkrmg to mwj this gixl^" said Iiady St Austin^ ^' without
knowing who she is, or where she comes froniy or who she^
bdoogiB to? My deax Manl^ji tbia is a foUy that Lood St.
A^Dstin, if he still possessed the rights of a guardian over you„.

\

[

too" L*ii*"", Ae mo* . V* i>oi«»<»'

OB, TH£ RICH AND THE POOR. 345

protection. I will myself retire ; and I will take the oppor-
tunity to make the journey to Italy which I intended. Indeed,
I promised Lord Sarum that I would join him; and there,
perhaps, I may discover something relating to the mysterious
picture which bears so remarkable a likeness to Miss Sidney.
By your looks," he said to Lady Sarum, " I should guess that
you had s®me knowledge of that picture ?"

" It 18 only suspicion," replied Lady Sarum, with an air of
great sadness and confusion.

** May I take the liberty to ask its nature ?"

** I cannot tell you/' replied Lady Sarum, still more confused.
^' But I can say only that it is a secret of strange and fearful
import to her — and to me — and to you."

** Indeed I What I is there more mystery about this dear
prl? And you cannot tell me?"

** No : in one word — I cannot."

^' But I shall find it out in Italy, with Lord Sarum, depend
on it"

*' You may do so," said Lady Sarum, bursting into tears, and
then you will find your own happiness wrecked, and — God keep
me I — ^mine too, I fear !"

'rhe emotion of Lady Sarum, which surprised Lord Manley
not less than the information of the new mystery which seemed
to involve the destinies of Francesca with her own, put an end
to the conversation, and soon after the parties retired for the
night; Lord Manley expressing his intention of leaving the
castle next morning, and determined in his own mind, before
his departure, to have another interview with Francesca. Chance
favoured his design.

If Lord Mauley's sleep was troubled, Francesca's was not
less so on that agitating night. Generous as she was in her
love, and fixed as she was in her resolve with the sternness of
disinterested purpose becoming an ancient Spartan maiden,
she was still a woman; and to give up for ever that
which forms the end and object of woman's existence — the
first object on whom her young and fresh affections had learnt
to dwell I — the only one as she felt on whom she could ever
bestow her love I — and with that, to abandon rank, station,
consideration in society, and all that forms the ease and luxury
of life, was indeed an agonising trial I She almost repented of
her decision ; and allowed herself to indulge in faint surmisiiigs

2 A

3(46 fanHy, the little millini^r:

of whether he who had so generously offered her tus hted
would renew his suit, or, taking her at h^r word, would desist
from further solicitation, where refusal had been, as he might
perhaps feel, so humiliatingly given ? And then she accused
herself of hastiness and harshness; — she recalled every word
that he had spoken, and endeavoured to remember het oWli
replies. She dwelt fondly on his fervid declaration ol hid
affection for her ; and as she thought, she was overcome by the
sense of his generous love, and wished that she had not expressed
her resolution so strongly. Again she recurred to her own
humble state and to his high degree ; and she sighed as she was
compelled to acknowledfije the unfitness of the marriage of one
so exalted with one so lowly ! And would she not be accused
of having entrapped the young peer into an engagement so
unsuitable to his rank and fortune ? Her veins swelled with
the rush of blood to her temples, as she shuddered with in-
dignant pride at the thought of such a suspicion! Nol she
would bury herself in obscurity; she could die, as indeed sh^
felt she must, under the weight of the new affliction which
overwhelmed her; but she would neither expose him to the
ridicule, nor herseli' to the killing mortification, of such an
accusation ! His happiness would be ever dear to her ; but as
to her own, that she felt was gone for ever ! It was in the
frame of mind which such sentiments produced that in the early
morning she left her sleepless chamber, and descended into the
garden.

The morning air was fresh and invigorating, and she felt the
genial influence of the mild coolness of a bright May morning,
which, while it re-strung her nerves, soothed her spirits, and
disposed her mind to cheerfulness. She admired the magni-
ficent walks, the stately trees, the verdant turf, the opening
flowers, the melody of the birds ; — all nature seemed gladsome
and full of love ! She wandered on through the wild shrubbery,
till she reached a summer-house at the extremity, built iii
romantic style, and overlooking a broad sheet of water which
formed a lake atretching into the distance, and losing itself
behind a cluster of fairy islands. The door of the summer-
house WAS op?n ; she entered-- but not unseen.

Lord Manley had risen early also. \Vliether froji that
mysterious sympathy which it is said prompts two hearts in
unison to the same resolves, or tha' it was chance alone— if such

OR, TIIK RICH AND THE POOR. 347

a thing as chance there is — that directed his steps, he bent bis
way to the garden, and in the same direction as Francesco*

As he drew near to the lake, musing on the event of the night
before, he caught sight of a fluttering dress entering the sum-
mer-house. His heart gave a bound at the vision. Though
the time was early, and it was unusual for the inmates of the
castle to be abroad at such an hour, he felt sure that it could be
no other than Francesca. He hastened his steps ; but at the
threshold he paused for a moment to consider in what terms he
should address her.

There was a little round table by the window overlooking
the water, at which Francesca was sitting, her cheek resting on
her hand. Her eyes were fixed on the broad expanse of the
lake. She was in deep thought ; and she had the abstracted
air of one who supposed herself alone and uuoljijierved.

Lord Manley gazed on her with tender admiration. She
was always beautiful ; and in this moment of her abandonment
to absorbing thought, grace sat on her as an adorning mantle.
Her lips moved ; she murmured ; she spoke : —

**No: — never!... never!... He loves mel— He loves the poor
orphan girl! — that is enough — enough — for me! That shall
be my consolation!. ..Yes... that... shall be my consolation — my
consolation — in poverty — in sorrow — and— in the grave I"

These words, slowly and faintly uttered, were as drops of
manna in the desert to the heart of Lord Manley. Her love
for him was now manifest and certain ! All doubt was removed,
and his course was plain and clear. As to her objections to
the humbleness of her condition, the obscurity of her birth, and
the inequality of the alliance, that was nothing in the balance I
He had become possessed unawares of the real secret of her
heart I Her heart was his ; and, that obtained, all minor diffi-
culties vanished. He would have been glad to hear the welcome
words again and again ; but as it was evident that she thought
herself alone, it was contrary to his high feelings to become the
unsuspected confidant even of an avowal so welcome. In a low
voice he pronounced her name.

Francesca started ; for already had she learnt to distinguish
the tone of that voice, even in its lowest accents, from all
others. She rose, and stood up, for a brief space confused
and agitated ; but presently recovering her composure of mind,
and summoning up all her energies to bear her rightly through

2 A 2

348 FAKNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

this second interview, she waited for Lord Manley to address
her.

*' It was my intention," said Lord Manley, " to ask your
permission to say a few words to you before my departure "

** Are you going, then T said France*»ca, hastily ;...8he was
about to say more, but she checked herself.

" Miss Sidney,'' said Lord Manley, " after the explicit
declaration which I made to you last night..."

" My lord," interrupted Francesca, ** that is a subject which
I understood you Avould spare me from entering on again — and

so soon "

" Forgive me. Miss Sidney ; but it must be now or never.
Lady Sarum has communicated to me your wish to withdraw
from the castle ; but as it would be a cruelty in me to allow of
your losing Lady Sarum's valuable protection, I have de-
termined to go abroad."

" My lord, I owe you more thanks, then, for this most kind
consideration."

" I am going to Italy, where, perhaps, I may have the oppor-
tunity of gaining information respecting your parents, wMch,
perhaps," he said, smiling, " may entitle me still further to your
consideration."

Francesca was silent.

" I have not mentioned it to you before," he continued ;
" but by an accident I became possessed, before I knew you,
of a picture which bears so strong a resemblance to you that it
might be taken for a portrait of yourself. It is evidently the
j)()rtrait of an Italian lady."

Francesca became intensely interested.

'' As this picture, though very like you, is certainly not a
portrait of yourself, I have been led to conjecture that it must
be a portrait of some one nearly connected with you ; perhaps,**
he added, '* of your mother I"

Francesca clasped her hands, and regarded Lord Manley with
a wild earnestness which affected him powerfully. He replied
to the request which her looks expressed.

" I will, if you please, send it to you ; although, perhaps, in
doing this I am doing more than could be required of me, as in
parting with it I shall lose that which I have long cherished in
my absence from you as my dearest treasure."

Francesca began to be more agitated.

OR, TU£ XUCU AND THE POOR. 349

** And now," said Lord Manley, *' I will bid you farewell.
I am sure that you will sometimes think of me ; for it . is for
your sake that I undertake the journey; and if I should be
successful in my search, and that artificial disparity which you
speak of should be removed, perhaps you will allow me then to
hope that the renewal of my suit may not be disagreeable;
and if I should be so fortunate as to be able to place you in the
arms of your parents..."

Francesca's eyes streamed so with tears that she saw but
dimly, and was not aware that Lord Manley had attempted to
take her hand till she found it clasped in his.

** If I should place you," he repeated, ** in the arms of your
parents, you will then permit me to claim you as my own^ as
the reward of my success..."

" It is too much," faintly articulated Francesca^ " to hope for ;
it is too much..."

" But if it should be so," pursued Lord Manley, "may I
consider that I have your promise ?"

Francesca could hardly speak. The new picture which the
enthusiastic words of Lord Manley had conjured up over-
powered her; — thn suddenness of his departure; his generous
solicitude for the fulfilment of the long-cherished hope of her
existence ; the warmth and sincerity of his love ; her own
feelings of gratitude — of love for him ! — It was too much ! The
sternness of her resolution failed her : — the feelings of the woman
resumed their empire; she could no longer resist the disin-
terested devoledness of his affection. Stretching out her right
hand, which was free, her form slowly, and as if by some
invincible attraction, inclined towards him^ as she murmured
out...

^' If I were mistress of these domains, and of the name and
title which they confer on their possessor, you would not have
to complain of my reluctance to make such a promise ;" and
saying this, she would have sunk on the ground had he not
received her in his arms and supported her to a seat ; nor could
he refrain from imprinting on her lips a kiss of ardent and pure
affection.

" We will leave this summer-house, if you please, my lord,"
said Francesca, burning with blushes.

" You will take my arm ?" said Lord Manley.

Timidly leaning on his arm, they passed slowly on by the

350 FANNY, THE l^ITTLE MILLINER:

various gardeners who met them on their way home, and who,
if they were surprised at seeing them at so early and unusual
an hour, were not less lost in admiration at the surpassing love-
liness cf Francesca, who, one of them declared, energetically
sticking his spade in the ground to give emphasis to his opinion,
was " the tidiest flower of all the beds in the garden ; for she
was lilies and roses all in one."

Lady Sarum was surprised at breakfast to observe the ex-
cessive cheerfulness — indeed, the hilariousness, as she expressed
it — of Lord Manley, notwithstanding that his departure, things
considered, might have been expected to produce a contrary
effect. Nor was she less struck with a certain air of satisfac-
tion visible on the countenance of Francesca; but she was
unacquainted with the fact of the pacifying meeting in the
summer-house. Her ladyship was obliged to devour her con-
jectures in silence.

At an early hour, which was more in accordance with Lilian
habits than with etiquette, Colonel Lacey called; to whom
liord Manley immediately communicated his intention of taking
a journey to Italy, and its object. Kor did he disguise from
him, though without entering into Retails, the offer which he
had made to his ward — as he particularly called her to the
Colonel. Colonel Lacey, although he received the intimation
of Lord Mauley's proposals with that sort of regret which every
man feels when a woman whom he loves is irrevocably lost to
himself by her union with another, expressed his most hearty
approval of both schemes ; and immediately offered to accom-
pany Lord Manley in his search. Lord Manley accepted this
frank offer the more willingly as it removed from the propin-
quity of his mistress the person of a handsome soldier whom he
had a particular distaste to see treating Francesca with the affec-
tionate familiarity of a guardian — rather too young, as he
thought, for the office.

All matters, therefore, being thus, for the present, satisfac-
torily arranged, the two friends departed. Lord Manley having
first prevailed on Francesca to give him a lock of her hair for
the purpose, as he alleged, of facilitating his inquiries; but,
as that little affair was managed rather in a hurry. Lady Sarum
could not fail to remark at dinner that the classic head of her
protegee presented a lopsided appearance, which Francesca had
ia vain attempted to rectify ; but as, in reply to her ladyship's

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 351

inquiries as to tlie cause of the deficiency, Francesca could only
reply by a burning blush, which suffused neck, temples, face,
and even the part of her arms which tlie space between her long
gloves and her dress left visible, her protectress was pleased
not to insist on a more elucidatory explanation, but left to time
and events the unravelment of the web of perplexities which she
found herself involved in.

In this way passed many weeks ; and tranquillity prevailed at
the castle, broken only by some querulous expressions on the
part of Lord Grandborough that he wished the family to make
a tour through Germany. Lady Sarum began almost to hope
that the troubles which she had dimly pictured to herself were
but the idle visions of distempered fear, and that all would end
well at last. The catastrophe was nearer at hand, however, than
that good and benevolent lady had any thought of. A letter
from her husband suddenly broke up the deceitful calmness
which had stolen over her, and was the herald of events of most
terrible import.

CHAPTER LIIL

LBTtBR FROM LORD SARUlf : THE BEGINNIMO 09 THB BNO.

The letter ran thus : —

" Dearest Eleanor, — I have been ill, but I am now much
better. Reports, however, may reach you that I am worse
than I am, — I therefore write to you this short letter. You
need not be alarmed ; there is no immediate danger. I have
very good attendance. The fever is gone, and I am quite easy.
I am worried about Augustus ; — but, perhaps, it is better not.
Whether it is best to live or die no one can tell. I think of
him continually. It is a sad fate. There are a thousand
chances to one in his favour— but still— The physician is just
come in. He says I am not to write more. This fever kills
me; for I want to be moving. It is a painful search; and
whether I succeed or fail, destruction lies on either hand. The

352 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

doctor says, — I am not to write more. But you need not be
alarmed. Your affectionate and unhappy A."

Lady Sarum was still lost in painful wonder at the tenour
of her husband's letter, which plainly betrayed that he was
more seriously ill than his wandering communication confessed,
when Mrs. Buckram slowly entered. It was evident that the
housekeeper was fraught with some intelligence of an unusual
nature ; and she held in her hand an open letter, of that peculiar
flimsy and slight appearance which indicated at a glance its
foreign character.

The grim old lady was struck with the fixed and sorrowful
expression of her lady's countenance ; and^ so far as her nature
would allow, she sympathised with the grief which she doubted
not had been caused by Lord Sarum's letter ; for of all things
on earthy her fat pug-dog excepted, she most doted on the lord
who was to succeed the Earl of Grandborough in the family
honours, and whom she had alternately caressed and had been
tormented by, in infancy and in boyhood. Not even the young
Augustus was able to rival this, her first plague, in her affec-
tions. It was with an air of considerable concern, therefore,
that she proceeded to unfold her errand : —

" Your ladyship, I hope, will excuse me ; but I have held
my lord in my arms when he was a child; and many is the
brandy-cherry or little glass of liqueur that I have given him
when he has been made out of spirits — but now !" and here the
dispenser of contraband delicacies put an enormous squab of a
handkerchief to her eyes, to sop up some fat tears which sur-
mounted the ridges of her puffy cheeks.

Her mistress, surprised at this unusual exhibition of feeling,
and prepared, from her own letter, to hear still more painful
tidings, turned deadly pale ; but with the fearful calmness of
despair she asked, pointing to the open letter which Mrs.
Buckram held in her hand, —

'' Is it all over, then ?— that letter ?"

** Your ladyship has heard, of course, from my lord himself,"
said Mrs. Buckram. " This is only a letter that Mr. Tighe
has written to my Lord Grandborough's old valet ; only a few
lines ; but of course my lord's letter to your ladyship will have
told you all."

" All !" said Lady Sarum.

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 353

** Perhaps there is no reason to be so much alarmed," con-
tinued the housekeeper ; ** but it 's certain, as no doubt your
ladyship knows from your own letter, that my lord is alarm-
ingly ill. .. ."

" Give me the letter," said Lady Sarum.

The letter was seemingly written in great haste. It stated
that Lord Sarum had been incessantly engaged in journeying
through various parts of Italy ; that his lordship had been
mostly very low in spirits, but that sometimes he had been
most extraordinarily excited ; and that, owing to his constant
restlessness, and his fatiguing exertions, a fever had been
brought on. Mr. Tighe further communicated that his master
had been very wild in his head, and had been raving after
some one whom, of course, ** as he was his lordship's confiden-
tial man," Mr. Tighe wrote, he could not consider himself at
liberty to name, but that that person seemed to be at the
bottom of his master's illness. He added, that his lordship was
attended by two Italian doctors, who disagreed as to the nature
of his complaint, and by a young English surgeon, whose opi-
nion differed entirely from the other medical gentlemen ; but that
the latter had recommended him, the writer, as he was in his
lordship's particular confidence, to write home immediately to
apprise his lordship's family of his dangerous state, which was
the more alarming, the young surgeon said, as, in his opinion,
it was owing to some mental irritation which it was beyond
the power of medicine to reach. Mr. Tighe added, that he
sent off the present letter to Mr. Markham, as Lord Grand-
borough's confidential gentleman, in order that he might com-
municate the contents to his lord. In a postscript he added,
that Lord Sarum had written a letter to my lady, which, no
doubt, explained matters fully ; but that his master had been
seized with another fit of delirium, about which the two Italian
doctors were disputing in an adjoining room, while the young
surgeon, who had been inquiring if he had any good cigars,
was in attendance at his master's bedside. The letter was
dated " Milan," and marked '* private," and was signed, with an
excessive flourish, " John Tighe."

" Let me know," said Lady Sarum, " if Lord Grandborough
can see me immediately."

" My lord is in his private study," replied the housekeeper,
^^ closeted with Mr. Markham, about signing some deeds, I

2b

354 FANNT, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

believe, for the page told me that he saw parchments on the
table. Mr. Markham is very close,^ added the housekeeper,
** as he always is ; and how it is that my lord has had such a
fancy for him and made him so rich, b more than I can account
for I We should not have known about this letter if he had
not dropped it, and your ladyship's woman had not picked it
up, and read it, thinl^ing, as she said, that it was addressed to
herself; and she did not find out her mistake till she had read
it twice over, and then she brought it to me, as was proper — to
ask my advice.''

Lady Sarum, who had been meditating deeply and rapidly
on the contents of both letters during this slight harangue of
the housekeeper, immediately rose, and went to her father-in-
law's apartment.

It struck her that some altercation was taking place between
the earl and his ancient valet, for the voice of Lord Grand-
borough was raised, and the valet was speaking, she thought,
in a loud and imperative tone, and one by no means in accord-
ance with his subservient position. . Some parchments were
hastily crumbled up on her appearance, and put away in a
drawer of the bureau, which the valet locked, putting the key,
in a quiet way, in his pocket.

** Are you at leisure, my dear lord?" asked his daughter-
in-law.

" Not exactly ; not just at this moment ; — that is — I am
always at leisure to you, you know, my dear Lady
Eleanor."

Lady Sarum looked at the valet, as if waiting for his de-
parture.

. ** You may go, Markham," said the earl, in a tone half depre-
cating, half directing.

Lady Sarum had been long aware of the influence which his
valet exercised over her father-in-law ; but she had attributed
it principally to the earl's age and infirmities, and to the neces*
sity of receiving assiduous attentions from one who was ac-
quainted with his habits and infirmities ; but the present exhi-
bition of Lord Grandborough's submissive manner struck her
forcibly, and the remembrance occurred to her afterwards ; but
at the moment she was too much absorbed with her own.
thoughts and fears to pay it further attention.

She began at once, but cautiously, on the subject of his son's

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 355

illness, which she found that the earl had already been apprised
of. She then stated her intention of immediately setting off to
join her husband in Italy. This step the earl strenuously op-
posed; but finding her determined, he suddenly acquiesced,
and signified his intention of accompanying her.

Lady Sarum was glad of this offer, as it removed a difficulty
which was in her mind in respect of the due care of her father-
in-law in her absence; and she immediately despatched a
mounted messenger to communicate to her mother her inten-
tion of setting out the next morning for town, on her way to
Dover. To her great joy, a reply was brought back from Lady
St. Austin, communicating her own desire and Lord St.
Austin's also, to accompany their daughter in her forced jour-
ney. The next question was, what was to be done with Fran-
cesca? Colonel Lacey having already taken his departure for
Italy with Lord Manley, the convenience of his protection for
Miss Sidney was not available. Not being able to hit on any
appropriate family with whom to place her at the moment,
without making explanations, which were awkward, she deter-
mined to take Francesca with her, as the safest course to
pursue under the circumstances ; which would keep ** the
girl" under her own eye, and away from inconvenient in-
quiries.

Having arrived in London, as all difficulties vanish before the
magic power of money, the same evening all the travelling con-
veniences of the party were quickly in order, and the carriages
duly packed for the continent ; and making no more halt on
the way than absolute necessity required, the party passed
through Paris to Strasburg, and thence by the usual route to
Milan. On their arrival there they ascertained that Lord Sarum
had recovered sufficiently to resume his travels, and from such
information as they could collect, Lady Sarum concluded that
she should find her husband at Florence. Thither, therefore,
they proceeded with less gloom over the party, as the alarm in
respect to Lord Sarum's health was happily removed ; and it
was with feelings of extreme delight that Francesca found her-
self on classic ground, while Lady Sarum was occasionally be-
guiled by her enthusiasm to forget at times her melancholy fore-
bodings. In this way, and with some semblance of gaiety, they
journeyed on to the spot which Lady Sarum fondly hoped would
be the term of her anxiety and uncertainties.

356 FANNY, THE LITTLE HILLINEB :

" At last," she exclaimed, as they entered the gates of Florence,
" we are coming to the end of our journey.''

The end indeed was coming I but an end how little expected
by any of those who were presently to be assembled at the last
scene of this eventful history.

CHAPTER LIV.

THB PHTSIOOMOMIST.

The first persons who met the eye of Lady Sarum at the hotel
where she alighted, were Lord Manley and Colonel Lacey . They
had just arrived from Pisa, where they had left Lord Sarum,
who had expressed his intention of followmg them to Florence
in a few days.

Lady Sarum immediately despatched a courier to her husband
to announce her arrival at Florence ; informing him that his
father had been attacked with his old complaint, which rendered
him unfit for travelling further ; and as she did not think it right
to leave him, as he had sent his valet Markham on some mission
with which she was unacquainted, she entreated Lord Sarum to
join her without delay. She made no mention of Francesca; —
as she had not time to enter into full particulars respecting her
domiciliation in the &mily, she thought it best to leave that ex-
planation to a personal interview.

With her mind a little more at ease at being assured of the
safety of her husband and of his partial restoration to health, and
with the certainty also, as she trusted, of seeing him at Florence
in a very few days, she devoted her whole attention to Lord
Grandborough whose case exhibited symptoms which excited
serious alarm. Fortunately, Lord Manley had already made ac-
quaintance with a Dr. Saluti, an Italian physician of much
celebrity at Florence, and remarkable for his skill in mental
diseases. The doctor promptly replied to the request for his
attendance, and after two days' careful examination of the Eng-
lish lord's case, he asked to see some one of the family to whom

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 357

he might express his opinion. As Lord St. Aastin \¥as not at
hand^ Lord Manley, as an attached friend to the family, took on
himself the office of receiving the doctor's communication.

The doctor began by inquiring, with much delicacy, if any
domestic calamity or public event had occurred lately to disturb
the mind of the Lord Grandborough : and on Lord Mauley's
reply that he was not aware of any such occurrence, the doctor
requested Lord Manley to carry bis mind back for some yeara^
and to endeavour to recollect if any sudden shock had hap-
pened to make a lasting and painful impression on the mind of
his patient, as, in his opinion, the doctor said, the malady with
which Lord Grandborough was afflicted was of long standing ;
and to judge from the replies of his patient, or from* the manner
of them rather than their substance, there was a morbid dread
in the mind of the lord of some overhanging disaster, of which,
the doctor said, it was clear to him the noble patient was in
continual fear.

Lord Manley said that he would make known the doctor's
opinion to Lord Sarum who was presently expected from Fisa,
and expressed his hope that there was no immediate danger.
The doctor shook his head at this, and replied that in such
cases it was impossible to say when a fatal termination might
take place; but the brain of the old lord was in a state of inci-
pient inflammation, which might suddenly increase to an extent
that would defy all medical skill ; but he would call again, he
said, the next day, and then he should be able to form a more
positive opinion. He added that the family must not be surprised
to see the patient suddenly get up and go about as usual, for
such was the nature of the complaint ; but such sudden changes,
he was sorry to say, were by no means indicative of a favourable
termination : on the contrary, that they were only a form of the
disease. But it seemed to him, he repeated, that the English
lord's malady hadexisted for many years, and, indeed, that it
was a case which suggested to his mind certain ideas which he
did not think himself at the moment warranted to express. He
had observed, he said, more than one case in the criminal
prisons analogous with the present, where the mind of the
patient was tortured by remorse, and by the unceasing recol-
lection of some unconfessed and unabsolved crime ; but as this
view of the case could not apply to the English lord, it was
necessary for him, he said, to seek for some other cause to

358 FANNY) THE LITTLE MILLINER.*

account for the cerebral disturbance which manifested itself in a
form so determined.

As they conversed thus in low tones, they passed to the re-
ception room where they expected to find Lady Sarum. But
she had retired with Lady St. Austin to her chamber^ and no one
was in the room but Francesca. A slight flush, which suffused
her countenance as Lord Manley entered, made the experienced
physician suspect that there was more than one case of mental
excitement in the family, and as he observed a corresponding
symptom in the countenance of Lord Manley, he had no diffi-
culty in divining the truth. But as he approached with the
respect due to a lady of the rank which he presumed Francesca
to hold, he stopped abruptly, and regarded her with an expres-
sion of extreme interest.

As Francesca was much confused, and trembled rather at the
earnestness of the physician's eye, he availed himself of the
privilege of his age and his profession, and taking her hand
playfully, felt her pulse.

" I hope," said Francesca, smiling, ** that you do not see any
reason to number me among your patients ? "

" The same voice ! " exclaimed the physician ; '* this is really
extraordinary !'*

Francesca looked surprised.

'* It is remarkable/' said the physician, taking leave of Fran-
cesca, and speaking to Lord Manley, as they descended the
stairs, *' to observe the infinite varieties of the human counte-
nance although their regular types are few. For instance, you
will always find a tall thin body surmounted by a small head,
while the body of a dwarf is invariably accompanied by one
that is large and disproportionate. But Lavater has already
classified the various characteristic expressions of the different
orders of the human physiognomy, and it is a subject that is too
large to be discussed as we are walking down stairs. It is a
study, however, that is exceedingly useful in all conditions of
life, and is peculiarly important to those of my profession. I have
long held the opinion, that the expression of a &ce is a book in
which those skilled in the language may easily read the pre-
dominant character of its possessor, and often the secret thoughts.
But, perhaps, it is as well that the vulgar should not have too
intimate a knowledge of this dangerous intelligence. That
young lady, now, whom I had the honour to see for a few

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 359

moments," said the doctor, stopping on the stairs, ^' has a most
remarkable expression of countenance. — Might I presume to ask
if she is related to the lord whom I have just now visited? "

** Not in the slightest degree," replied Lord Manley ; " but,
what is the expression of the countenance, doctor, to which jou
aUude?"

'^ It is an expression of extreme sadness ; of a sort of sadness
which ought not to afflict the young. But what I was most
struck with, was the illustration which she presented of my own
theory of the limited number of types of the human face and
form."

" What was it," asked Lord Manley, " that struck you as
remarkable ? "

" It was her extraordinary resemblance to a sick lady whom I
am attending at some little distance from the town ; — ^it was her
eyes ; — ^yes — it was the expression of the eyes that principally
caused this resemblance. — The same eyes; large, black, and
lull. All my countrywomen have black eyes ; but their ex-
pression is very different* And the general style of the coun-
tenance — allowing for changes — was the same; — that is, the
front view of it, not the profile I remarked. — Yes, this likeness
is certainly very extraordinary, and is a beautiful illustration of
the theory of the limited number of the types of the human
face. My lord, if you are fond of the science of physiognomy,
that young lady's countenance is a study; yes, it is a study; and
I advise you to peruse it as you would a book — a book, my lord,
a volume printed by nature for the philosopher's observation."

Lord Manle}^ did not think it necessary to communicate to
the enthusiastic philosopher of physiognomies, that, without
having had the benefit of the learned doctor's advice, he had
already, from his own pure love of such philosophy, perused the
book that the doctor spoke of, over and over again, until he had
got it pretty well by heart. But the words of the physician
caused in him a powerful curiosity, and he inquired the name
and residence of the sick lady to whom the doctor averred the
young lady bore so striking a resemblance. But here the doctor
became silent and reserved ; — he said that the lady, he believed,
had some reason for living retired, and that it was contrary to
professional etiquette to mention the name of a patient; he had
spoken, he said, only in a general way, and abstractedly, in
respect to physiognomical science ; and turning the conversa*

360 FAHNT, THE UTTUB MILUDnCE:

tioD^ with profiesnonal £udlity, to the commoa to[ucs of the day,
he was aboat to bid Lord Manley adieu*

But the comnranication of the physician was too interesdng
to be lost sight of, and Lord Manley^ after some little reflection,
determined to make him a confidant, and to acqoaint him with
all that he knew of Francesca's history, and to inform him c^his
own endeavours to clear up the mystery of her parents. Thus
entreated, the physician could not refuse to satisfy Lord Manle^s
reasonable inquiries, agreeing that the circumstance of the re-
markable likeness was a sufiicient reason &>t his departing from
the usual strictness of professional reserve on such occasions,
although, he said, he had never heard the ack lady drop a word
to lead him to conclude that there was any one related to her
&mily in the position of Miss Sidney. But the matter, he
admitted, was deserving of inquiry.

Lord Manley immediately returned to Franceses, and com-
municated to her the information of the physician ; and it was
agreed between them, that Francesca should request Lady
Sarum to allow her to proceed to the spot which was describ^
as the dwelling-place of the unknown, to whom she bore, ac-
cording to the account of the physician, so surprising a resem-
blance. Lady Sarum heard Francesca's recital with a tremor
which she could not disguise ; and desiring Francesca to leave
her alone for a few minutes that she might consider what was
best to be done, she abandoned herself to the agitating thoughts
which such an announcement was calculated to produce in the
bosom of a wife to whom the existence of a mistress and a rival
had suddenly become revealed !

At first, the thought of the propinquity of that mistress — so
eageriy sought for, and, as she feared, so fondly cherished by
her husband, almost took away her breath! She felt that
agony of jealousy which shoots through the heart with a pang
so sharp and cutting ! which words cannot describe — ^and which
almost deprives its victim of all feeling from the overwhelming
intensity of its pain. For some time the suffering lady sat as
if transfixed — her hands grasping the elbows of the antique
chair — and with her eyes gazing on vacancy ! Had not an
hysterical flood of tears come to her relief, she would have been
suffocated with that choking of the throat which is the conse-
quence of deep emotion. She wept long and passionately ; but
when the violence of her agitation had subsided, and reason

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 361

resumed its empire^ she began to question the positive nature
of the fact^ which was rather surmised than established^ in
respect of the mother of Francesca. Her thoughts, at one time
suggested by her wishes^ and at another bj her fears^ alter-
nately dwelt on the truth and falsehood of her suspicion. And
now she thought that it nnust be true^ for her fears prompted
her that to find it false was too great a good for her to expect ;
and then she determined that her suspicion must be false, for
to find it true was a calamity too frightful for her to bear!
Thus swayed from side to side, as the loving trust of the
woman assured her in confidence, or the burning jealousy of
the wife convulsed her with dread, she remained for a consider-
able time in a state of the most painful indecision. At last the
desire to aid the orphan girl in her search after her parents
prevailed, and she determined to accompany Francesca to this
mysterious unknown, and to see with her own eyes, and be
guided by her own understanding : to this resolve, perhaps, the
pride of the peeress and the curiosity of the woman lent, in
some degree, their influence. Giving immediate orders for
horses to be put to her light travelling carriage, and making
known her intention to Francesca, she invited Lord Manley to
accompany her, and thus attended, and with the vivid remem-
brance of the picture, the mention of which had excited so
much emotion in Lord Sarum, she passed through the gates
of Florence, and in a short time found herself near the spot
where the Italian lady had fixed her dwelling.

CHAPTER LV.

LORD SARUM AND COLONEL LACBT.

If Lady Sarum had been aware that her husband was so near
the place which she was leaving, she would, doubtless, have
postponed her visit. In less than half an hour after his wife
had passed through the opposite gates, he entered the city,
and immediately proceeded to the hotel at which Lady Sarum

2 c

362 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

had informed him, by her courier, that she had taken up her
abode.

His first visit was to his father, whom he found sitting up in
a chair in his private room, conversing with Lord St, Austin.
He found Lord Grandborough in a very fretful and feverish
state, and exceedingly anxious for *the arrival of his valet,
Markham. Lord St Austin was endeavouring to soothe his
old fiiend ; but Lord Grandborough's mind was too unsettled
to be able to fix itself on any definite object — excepting the
earnest expectation of his confidential servant's return.

As the presence of his son seemed rather to irritate than to
pacify the impatience of the old lord, and as Lord St Austin
hinted that it would be best to leave his father alone for the
present. Lord Sarum made his way to the reception-room,
where he found lady St Austin in company with a stranger,
whom she introduced to him under the name and title of
« Colonel Lacey."

Colonel Lacey, although he was not forgetfiil of the events
of the memorable night when he first saw the young lord in
the hut of Matthew the woodman, went through the introduc-
tion with the ease and self-possession of an accomplished
soldier; but not so Lord Sarum: the name of " Lacey " in a
moment awoke most powerful recollections. In truth, this
unfortunate nobleman had become sadly changed since his
departure fi:om England. His wearying journeys ; his unceas-
ing anxiety, and his recent illness, had committed sad ravages
on a countenance prematurely saddened by the corrosion of a
constant grief. He had been totally unable to discover the
slightest trace of the mother of Francesca; either she was
dead, or the secret of her retreat was so well kept, that it
baflled all his researches, and it was in vain that he was lavish
in the expenditure of money to effect his object, and even
interested the government in his pursuit; the secret of the
death or existence of the original of the picture, over which he
had shed such bitter tears in Lord Manley's house, in London,
was impenetrable. But it was destined that accident, or that
which seemed accident, should bring to light what art and
industry had failed to accomplish.

The name of " Lacey," Lord Sarum remembered too Well,
was that which was borne by the young man, who sixteen
years ago had rescued the infant Francesca from the white

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 363

woman's pit, and who had suddenly disappeared with his mo-
ther and the child. The stranger who stood before him, how-
ever, bore no resemblance to the person or condition of the
young labourer, whose noble spirit and disinterested generosity
he had at the time so much admired. But the mention of the
name caused him to regard the stranger with a longer and more
earnest gaze than politeness warranted.

The colonel, who had lost all remembrance of Lord Sarum's
person, but who could never forget the generous devotion of
the young nobleman in his attempt to rescue the woman from
the pit, returned Lord Sarum's earnest look with a good-
natured smile.

*' I perceive," he said, " that your lordship does not recollect
me ; nor, indeed, can I be surprised considering the lapse of
years, and the change of circumstances."

Lord Sarum regarded him with increased surprise. Colonel
Lacey spoke as if they had met before ; but when, and where ?
and what had Colonel Lacey to do with the humble Lacey of
former years ? But seeing that some reply was expected from
him, he spoke :

** Many years ago, I had occasion to have some intercourse with
a young man of the same name as yourself; but he was in a
very humble condition ; in short, he was a labourer — or little
above it — in the county where I was born, ..... but . . . . "
*' The young labourer to whom your lordship refers," replied
the colonel, with a little pardonable pride, and drawing himself
up, " and the humble individual who has the honour to address
you are the same : — I am the Edward Lacey whom your lordship

met at the woodman's cottage "

"And he who saved the child?"
*^ The same, my lord."

*' My God 1 " exclaimed Lord Sarum, " I thank you for this !
— I have sought you," he said to Lacey, **over the four quarters
of the globe — but that is nothing:— tell me — and at once — what
became of that child?"

"My lord, she was miraculously saved from shipwreck off
the coast of North America. I thought she had perished ; but
on my return from India, the first visit which I paid was to the
scenes of my childhood, and it was at the cottage of Matthew
the woodman, that I found her again, a second time saved from
that awful pit by Earl Manley . . . ."

364 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

" By Lord Manley ! "

" She was taken to the castle . . ."

« To Grandborough Castle !''

** To your family castle, my lord, where she received the pro-
tection of Lady Sanim . . . ."

"Of my wife 1"

" Even so, my lord ; the kind heart of her ladyship could not
resist the appeal of the orphan deserted by her parents, and she
has adopted her into her family . . . ."

" And where is she now ?"
She is here, my lord."

Here ! in this house ! Let me see her immediately. I have
important reasons for wishing to see her immediately. Dear
Lady St. Austin, have the kindness to let me see this child im-
mediately. Desire her to be called — or stay, I will go to her
myself— where is she ?"

" My lord," said Lady St. Austin, with some severity in her
manner; for the excessive anxiety of Lord Sarum to see the
*'girl," confirmed her suspicions as to the reality of her relation-
ship to him ; ^' you cannot see her at present, at any rate, as she
has accompanied my daughter, your lordship's wife, to see some
sick person whom they have heard of: — they departed more
than an hour ago."

The manner, as much as the words, of Lady St. Austin re-
called Lord Sarum to himself; for fixed as his thoughts had
been for some time past on the discovery of the mother of the
child, living or dead, he had allowed his feelings to get the better
of the self-control which he usually preserved. But as he
expressed a vehement desire to see Lady Sarum without delay^
Lady St. Austin consented to accompany him to the spot where
the sick person resided, which she did the more readily^ as she
was desirous of being present at a scene which so nearly affected
her daughter and herself in a most tender point. She judged
also, that her presence at an interview which might be painful
and could not fail to be embarrassing to her daughter, might be
useful. Without waiting longer, therefore, than to procure horses
for his carriage, the two set out to join Lady Sarum on her visit
of charity, having first taken a courteous and firiendly leave of
Colonel Lacey, whom they left at the hotel.

The colonel having reflected for a few minutes, instantly
decided on the course which it was proper for him to pursue, in

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 365

a case where the interests of his adopted ward were concerned ;
and without waiting to order a carriage, he immediately stepped
out, and hiring a conveyance on the spot, directed the vetturino to
drive, with all the speed of which his horse was capable, to the point
where he expected to find Lady Sarum and Francesca. On his
way out he encountered a man whom he at once recognised as
an Englishman, covered with dust, and just alighted from a
post*horse, who hastily rushed into the hotel, asking eagerly, as
the Colonel fancied he heard, for Lord Grandborough. — This
man was Markham, who hurriedly made his way to Lord Grand-
borough's chamber.

As he entered, he exclaimed in an agitated tone, and not
seeing Lord St. Austin, who was standing in a recess of the
window: —

" All is lost ! By some means Lady Sarum has discovered
the place of her retreat, and she is now on her way to the cottage
of the mountain!"

Lord Grandborough pointed to Lord St. Austin, who came
forward as Markham pronounced these words, and said : —

** What is lost ? and what is the meaning, my dear lord, of
your man's excessive agitation ? Has any accident happened to
your son or to my daughter? Speak," he said, to Markham,
who exhibited considerable alarm while Lord St. Austin spoke ;
"What is the matter?"

But Markham instead of replying looked at Lord Grand-
borough, who seemed to be overwhelmed and stunned by an invi-
sible blow. But some of his ancient spirit rallying, and drawing
courage and strength from the very desperation of the circum-
stances, the aged earl slowly rose from his chair, and, to the
astonishment of his friend, said in a firm voice : —

" Markham ; attend to me. — There may be time to prevent
this meeting yet. Order a carriage to be got ready instantly.
I will go."

" My dear Grandborough," said Lord St. Austin, '* whatever
the secret of all this is I do not know, and will not, at present
at any rate, take the liberty to inquire ; but really you must not
attempt to go out without the permission of your physician."

" It must be !" replied Lord Grandborough, still standings
and supporting himself on the back of the chair.

'^ But really, thb is folly or madness ; as Dr. Saluti gave
most positive directions that you were to be kept quiet, and
on no account to be exposed to any excitement."

366 FANNY^ THE LITTLE MILLINER.*

"It must be !" repeated Lord Grandborough.
The carriage is ready/' said Markham^ coming in.
Well," said his friend, " if you will go, I will go with you ;
take my arm."

" Markham, " said Lord Grandborough, " you will go
with us."

" Yes, my lord."

" What is the meaning of all this ?" said the physician, who
was passing the hotel in the course of his avocation, as Lord
Grandborough with Lord St. Austin, seated in an open carriage,
were on the point of starting. " Why you are the most self-
willed and obstinate of all obstinate Englishmen ! my lord, this
exposure of yourself to the excitement of travelling may have
the most serious consequences. But stay; let me feel your
pulse. — Very remarkable,'^ muttered the physician to himself;
^* is this a crisis, or what ? Are you going far ?"

" It must be !" repeated Lord Grandborough.

The physician looked for an explanation to Lord St. Austin.
Lord St. Austin stated his utter ignorance of the place or the
occasion, and referred to the valet. The valet stated where
they were going.

'* It must be 1" repeated Lord Grandborough.

The physician regarded his countenance attentively.

" I see," he said, " that you have room for four ; as you are
going to a part of the environs, where a patient of mine re-
sides, perhaps you will allow me to accompany you ?"

" It would confer an obligation if you would accompany us,"
said Lord St. Austin.

" It must be 1" repeated Lord Grandborough.

The physician beckoned to his servant, who took from his
master's carriage, a small leather case, which the physician
quietly slipped into his capacious pocket. He then gave some
directions to his servant, in a low tone, who nodded intelli-
gently, and said, —

" It shall be done."

The physician took his place opposite to Lord Grandborough,
who made a signal to the driver, and the carriage immediately
set oflF at a rapid pace to the valley where the secluded dwelling
known by the name of the " Cottage of the Mountain," hid its
humble roof.

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 367

CHAPTER LVI.

THE ORIGINAL OF THE PICTURE.

It was evening, at the close of the month of July. A soft and
refreshing coolness had succeeded the heat of the day. The
repose of nature was so inviting, in the absence of the scorching
rays of an Italian sun, that an invalid who inhabited a se-
cluded cottage in the environs which adorn the magnificent
city of Florence, was tempted to leave her room^ and sit in the
open air on a rustic bench which stood near the door of her
dwelling.

The age of the invalid was about five and thirty. Her coun-
tenance, which still bore the appearance of surpassing but
faded beauty, was singularly striking ; her large dark eyes, and
jet black hair, formed a remarkable contrast with the marble
paleness of her skin. Her form was wasted to a shadow ; she
was in the last stage of weakness, and her voice was hollow and
feeble.

*' How calm it is !" she said to a female attendant who was
standing by her side ; '* what a stillness in the air ! All nature
seems to be at rest 1"

** Ah, signora," replied her attendant, " the greatest pleasure
in life, after all, is to be at rest and to do nothing. But those
English 1 they are never at rest 1 Would you believe it, signora,
when I went to Father Loretti's to-day, who should I see gallop-
ing about but a young English lord — they told me he was, — who
does nothing but roam in and out of all the villages near, seek-
ing for what nobody knows what ! For my part, I think it is
some sweetheart that he has lost, and is looking for ; these Eng-
lish heretics, as Father Loretti says, are always after some mis-
chief, and no pretty girl is safe with them for a moment ! But
he is only two or three and twenty, the housekeeper told me ;
very fair, and with blue eyes. How odd it is that these English

368 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

people always have blue eyes and light hair ! But there is
something very pretty about it, don't you think so, signora?
Holy mother I Well ; talk of a certain person, and he is sure to
appear, as the saying is. I declare if the blue-eyed Englishman
is not coming up the path straight to our cottage. What can he
want here ? Not me ; I 'm sure I never spoke to him I Well,
to be sure, how free and easy these English lords are ! Shall I
tell him to go away, signora ?"

The countenance of the invalid underwent a remarkable change
during this speech of the loquacious Tereza. Some recollec-
tions of former times seemed to oppress her with overwhelming
sadness. She could not be more pale ; but there was that in the
expression of her mouth and eyes which told of the violence of
the sudden agitation within. Tereza regarded this exhibition
of emotion with alarm ; and thinking it was the appearance of
the stranger that had disturbed her mistress, she advanced to
.prevent his coming.

" Whom do you want, signor, and what is your business with
us? My mistress is an invalid, and cannot see strangers, and
especially foreigners."

The stranger stopped, and looked towards the bench where
the invalid was sitting : —

"Your mistress beckons us," he said.

Tereza turned, and to her surprise perceived by the motion of
her mistress's hand that she was desirous that the stranger
should approach.

" You will talk to her very carefully, signor," said Tereza,
*' and don't speak loud if you please ; for my poor mistress, as you
see, is very ill and very weak : indeed," she added in a whisper,
" Father Loretti fears much for her, and we expect him here
this evening. I wonder he has not come before now."

The stranger drew near, and at a sign from the invalid, seated
himself near her at the bench ; but suddenly starting up, he re-
garded her with so fixed and earnest a look, that the sick lady
was disturbed, and Tereza was almost frightened. The invalid,
on her part, looked at the stranger with an inquiring gaze, as if
desirous of recalling his features to her memory ; but presently
she cast down her eyes in disappointment, and shaking her head,
breathed a heavy sigh.

There was a pause for some time ; the stranger seemed un-
determined how to open the conversation, and the invalid waited

OR, THB RICH AND THE POOR. 369

for him to explain the object of his visit, while Tereza regarded
with wonder this specimen of the extraordinary habits of the
English people.

^^ You are an Englishman?" said the invalid, &intlj.

'' I am, signora :" the voice of the Englishman trembled very
much, as he added, ^' and I am desirous, if you would allow me
the permission, of saying a few words to you in private."

The invalid looked on him for nearly a minute anxiously and
earnestly; at last she said, with an apparent effort to gather up
her strength to receive some communication which excited both
hopes and fears : —

Do you know me, signor ?"

No, signora ; it is only accidentally, in the course of some
inquiries which I am making, that I have come to this lonely
and secluded cottage. But the sight of you brings to my re-
membrance ""

Signor ! What do you mean P'

I will explain to you the object of my inquiries," replied the
Englishman ; '^ but, as they concern matters of great delicacy, it
would be well, perhaps," glancing at Tereza, '* if we were
alone."

'^ Leave us Tereza."

Tereza retired.

'^You may speak, sir, now," said the invalid in English,
which she spoke well, but with a foreign accent, ^^ without
restraint"

The stranger turned towards the Italian lady with a quick
movement, and searched her comitenance with scrutinizing eyes.
Her knowledge of his own language filled him with an eager
hope which made his heart beat rapidly, but, controlling his
feelings, and taking into consideration the very feeble state of
the invalid, he endeavoured to speak with coolness and
calmness: — .

^' If I might venture to ask the name of the lady whom I have
the honour to address," he said, ^^it might possibly facilitate the
object which I have in view?"

" My name," replied the lady, a slight colour suffusing her
countenance, '' cannot be an object of interest to a stranger ?"
Then, after a pause, she added, '^ I am known as Juliana
Meroni."

The Englishman seemed much disappointed at this announce*

2d

370 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

ment of the lady's name. He meditated for a few moments^
and then resumed the conversation : —

" It is right, signora, that I should state the object of my
visit to Italy. I am desirous of tracing the relations of a young
lady who is ignorant of the name of her parents ; and whose
adventures have been of a most extraordinary character. "

*' And why do you suppose," said the lady, " that I have any
knowledge of the parents of this young lady ; is she of English
birth ?""

*^ That is a mystery ; she does not know the land of her birth ;
but particular circumstances have led me to think that her pa-
rents are not English ; — but thai in fact is the mystery which it
is my endeavour to clear up."

" I do not see," said the lady, ^' how I can help you in your
search."

" You may, perhaps," replied the Englishman. " I have reason
to believe that she has relations in this country ; and although
my present visit is only accidental, it so happens that there is a
remarkable likeness between this young lady and yourself.''

"Indeed!"

*' If you will excuse my mentioning the circumstance, it struck
me the moment I saw you, that your eyes, signora, are the
counterpart of Miss Sidney's."

"Miss Sidney?"

^^ It is the name of the young lady in whose welfare I am in-
terested.'*

" You are interested in this young lady's welfare ?" said the
invalid with a mournful smile.

" I am, signora," replied the Englishman, reddening ; " and
it is this resemblance that suggests the idea, that, by possibility,
some relationship may exist between you?"

*^ I am sorry to say any thing to disappoint you, but thie young
lady to whom you allude cannot be any relation of mine. I have
neither brother nor sister. I was an only child, and my parents
are long since dead. I know of no relation on my father^s or
my mother's side with whom your orphan can be connected.
What is her age ?"

" She does not precisely know ; but as well as I can make out
from certain circumstances, she must be about eighteen; not
quite so much, perhaps. A most singular occurrence took place
when she was a child. It happened in the north of England ;

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 371

-^jou have been in England perhaps? you speak English so
well that I fancy you must have passed some time in that
country ? "

'^ I have been in England," replied the lady^ speaking slowly
and with some reluctance; ^^ but it was not there that I learned
to speak your language. — But this singular occurrence ? what is
it? and who are you, sir, permit me to ask who interest yourself
so much in this young lady's affairs ?"

'^ I beg pardon, sjpiora ; I ought to have given my name
before.**

Drawing from an English case a card on which was engraved
his name and title, he presented it to the Italian lady.

" Earl Manley. — You are an English earl, I see ?"

Lord Manley bowed.

'^And you are very much interested about this mysterious
young lady ? is she very handsome ?"

^' She is a most beautiful gir],** replied Lord Manley ; ^'and, as
I said before, her eyes resemble yours so remarkably that some-
times they seem to be the same."

^^ Lideed ! — And you have reason to believe that she is a
native of this country?**

*' Such is my strong suspicion."

*^ And her age, you say, is about eighteen ?**
That is her age as nearly as can be ascertained.**
About eighteen years of age,** repeated the Italian lady to
herself, as if diese words, or the space of time which they com-
prised, recalled to her mind some recollections deeply interesting.
For some time she remained in a musing attitude, and a few
tears which filled her eyes showed that she felt a grief which,
though subdued, could not be forgotten. Placing her thin,
white hands before her face, she seemed absorbed for a short
space in mental prayer; then, uttering in a low voice, *' God*s
will be done," she recovered her calmness, and resumed the
conversation.

"And this orphan girl in whom you interest yourself, my
lord, has it pleased God to grant her kind protectors?"

" She is now safe, I trust, from all difficulties and from all
harm,'* replied the Englishman; "but for some lengthened time
she suffered much."

" Poor girl !" said the Italian lady.

" Her adventures," said the Englishman, "are of a most

372 FANNT, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

romantic chiuracter:-— she has been preserved three tunes from
imminent death; — and twice under circumstances of extra-
ordinary peril"

<^ It may be^" said the lady, ''that it has pleased God to purify
her by trials^ and to preserve her for some important and pre-
destined end.''

'' It is impossible," replied the Englishman, '' to reflect cm her
history without being possessed of that opinion."

^ My lord," said the Italian lady, '' I hafe been very ill, acnd I
am very weak ; but you have inspired me with a curiosity to
hear the story of this orphan girl."

''You may hear it from her own lips, signora; she is in a
carriage with her protectress close by ; and she is desirous of
seeing you."

" Let her come then," said the lady ; " but, if I may be per-
mitted to ask that favour, I should like to see her alone. — My
nerves are weak and easily excited — and the sight of your
orphan may recall thoughts, and give rise to emotions which I
should wish not to be observed."

" It shall be so, signora : she shall come to you alone."

It would be difficult to convey in words the crowd of sensa-
tions which oppressed Lord Mauley, as he departed from the
presence of the Italian lady. A vague presentiment of mingled
good and ill filled him with strange and confused emotions.
The general likeness of the Italian lady to Francesca^ allowrog
for the changes of disease and the difference of age^ was striking,
and what was not less remarkable, the tones of her voice re-
sembled in a singular manner the sweet melody of sound which
rendered Francesca's most trifling expressions so peculiarly
interesting. As he approached the carriage where Francesca
was waiting with Lady Sarum, with indescribable anxiety for hb
return, it was easy to guess from the serious and almost scdemn
aspect of his countenance, that he was impressed with the
conviction that some great revelation was at hand. But as
to how it was to be brought about, or what would be its
nature or extent he was lost in doubt ; and it was this vague
feeling of uncertainty — this struggle of hopes and feaf s — that
filled him with a sort of superstitious dread of the events
which a dim consciousness of the future suggested to him were
coming.

The Italian lady," he said to Francesca, "wishes to hear

((

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOB. 373

your story. I thought it best that she should receive it from
yourself; but it is her wish to see you alone."

Lady Sarum looked anxiously at Lord Manley; but she could
learn nothing satisfactory from his countenance; she turned red
and pale by turns ; and trembled visibly.

Francesca rose promptly from her seat; but here her strength
fisiUed her, and Lord Manley was obliged almost to lift her from
the carriage. She did not speak ; and she could scarcely walk;
and in a state of nervous excitement, which scarcely allowed her
to see or hear what was going on around her, she was supported
by Lord Manley, to the front of the cottage, and placed on the
bench near the invalid. Lord Manley then retired.

CHAPTER LVII.

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.

When Francesca sat down on the bench by the Italian lady,
the invalid made a motion to her to come closer to her side,
and gazing earnestly in the young girl's face, she held out her
hand, which Francesca cla^d timidly; and thus, hand in
hand, the two sat together for a brief space, neither speaking,
but each revolving thoughts, strange and undefined.

Presently the lady spoke, and the tones of her sweet voices
feeble as it was, thrilled through Francesca, and filled her with
an unspeakable awe ; fi>r it seemed to her that she had heard
that voice before — either in her dreams, or at some remote
period, so long ago that nothing remained in her memory of
the time or circumstances. That voice seemed to strike a
chord which had long remained untouched, but which now,
awakened from its passiveness, seemed to rouse up dim visions
and remembrances.

" My poor child !" said the invalid, ** they tell me you are m
orphan, and that your life is devoted to the discovery of your
parents. The English lord who has interested me about you,
sayd that yours is a strange history, and that you have endured

874 FANNTy THE LITTLE MILLINER:

much suffering. Would to God that I could aid you in your
search I but I fear that is totally beyond my power. Still, I
can sympathise with you — and that is something to the afflicted !
Have you no clue to your parents' name or condition?"

**None,'* replied Francesca; "my birth is wrapped up in
the most profound mystery ; but my history is strange and sad."

'^ Poor child ! so young, and already to have a history sad
as well as strange ! But, my child, we must place our trust in
God, and devoutly believe that his divine wisdom shapes our
fortunes and purposes for the best and fittest ends ! And here
comes a holy man who can better speak to you words of con-
solation than I can. Father Loretti," she said, to a venerable
priest, who now appeared, having entered the garden by a
private wicket to the right, " here is a poor orphan, an English
girl, who claims your benediction. She is seeking for some
clue to the discovery of her parents, whom she has never

seen."

** I have never seen them," said Francesca, *' and yet,
sometimes I think ; — and even now — ^but the recollection is so
dim — no — it must be a dream 1"

The priest, who was engaged in surveying Francesca with
much interest, was past the ordinary age of men. So much of
his hair as was visible, was of silvery whiteness, and his coun-
tenance displayed a holy calmness and a touching benevolence,
which irresistibly invited to confidence and affection. He leant
upon a staff as he stood for some time regarding the invalid lady
and the English girl alternately with fixed attention, and, as he
looked, an observer might have seen that his brow was for a
moment troubled, as if with some sudden thought; but it
quickly passed away. But he still kept his eyes fixed on the
English girl, wondering, it seemed, at some discovery which
occurred to him.

*^ My daughter," he said to the Italian lady, '* I thought you
were without living kindred ; how is it that you never men-
tioned this lady to me, who, from the strong resemblance which
she bears to you, I judge is some near relation ?"

*^ It is truth, my father," replied the lady ; " I am indeed
alone in the world, save God and you ; I have not the happi-
ness to have any one near and dear to me whose affection
might solace me in my long affliction ! This English lady is a
stranger to me ; but already she has inspired me with sympa-

OH, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 375

thy for her sorrows^ for she is an orphan who never knew her
parents.''

'* That is a sad lot, my child," said the priest ; "but the ways
of God are inscrutable. And by what name are you known,
my child?''

I am known by the name of Fanny — but ^

And how did you acquire that name ?" asked the priest ;
was it bestowed on you by accident ? or, has it any relation
to the supposed name of your parents?"

"It is an English name," she replied; "but in English it
corresponds with an Italian name."

" And what is that Italian name with which your English
one corresponds ?" pursued the priest

"Francesca."

The priest and the Italian lady started simultaneously ; the
former advancing a step towards the English girl, and the latter,
raising herself from her half-recumbent posture on the bench,
and leaning towards the stranger with an eager look of curiosi^^
and anxiety.

*^ Francesca !" repeated the priest, after a pause ; " that is an
Italian name of baptism, and you, my child, say that your
English name is derived from ours : explain to me."

"It was supposed," said Fanny, "that Francesca was the
name borne by my mother ; for when I was saved from the
pit — -."

" The pit 1" exclaimed the Italian lady, strongly excited ; —
" father ! the pit ! — she says the pit !"

** Be calm, my daughter ; — speak on, child."

*^ The name— the name !" cried out the Italian lady ; " what
was the name of the pit?"

" It is called the White Woman's Pit."

" Near Grandborough Castle ?" said the Italian, gasping for
breath.

Before Fanny, astonished to hear these words from the Italian
lady, could reply, Thereza appeared, announcing that an Eng-
lishman, who had arrived in great haste, prayed to be instantly
admitted ; " Here is the little ticket," she said, " that the
English people carry about with them in their visits."

The priest took the card, and read in a foreign accent,
" Colonel Lacey."

" It is the name of my deliverer," said Fanny.

376 FANNY; THE LITTLE MILLINER:

€(

Pray him to come Jbere instantly/' said the invalid.

Colonel Lacey appeared.

^'TeU this lady/' said Fanny^ ^'how you saved me from
the pit"

''It is now more than sixteen years ago," said Lacey^ ''when
a poor woman, carrying a child, was precipitated down a deep
pit, on Sandy-Flats Moor, a few miles from Grandboroogh
Castle. The woman was killed; the child was preserved.
That child now sits there beside you."

The agitation of the Italian lady increased every moment to
a degree of mtenseness which her thin and fragUe form seemed
too feeble to bear, and her large eyes shone in their deep
sockets with a preternatural lustre I She essayed to speak, but
her emotions were too suffocating to enable her to give utter-
ance to words ; she cast an imploring look at the priest^ whose
agitation was scarcely less than her own.

" Speak, signer," said the priest ; " tell me how this girl
came to be called Fanny or Francesca?"

" By the edge of the pit," replied Lacey, " a cross was found,
which was presumed to belong to the mother of the child ; but
the woman who carried her in her arms, and who perished in
the pit, we know, was not her mother. On the cross, which
was of gold, and of foreign workmanship, was engraved the
name of Francesca ; and that is the name which this young
lady bears."

The poor invalid stretched out her arms to Fanny ; but she
could neither speak nor move; while Fanny seemed to be para-
lyzed, and overwhelmed with a bewildering flood of thoughts,
which for a few moments prevented the exercise of her rea-
son. Suddenly she thrust her hand in her bosom, and drew
forth the cross which had been the object of her long venera-
tion, and which she had preserved and cherished in the hope
that it might one day lead to the discovery of her parents. She
held it towards the Italian lady, to whom her heart had warmed
with a strange and unaccountable instinct of affection; but the
invalid, with her eyes fixed on Fanny, with a wild expression
of immeasurable joy and love, which it would be vain for lan-
guage to attempt to describe, remained motionless and breath-
less ; and, except that her lips moved with a nervous tremulous-
ness that betrayed the working of the tremendous conflict of
hope and fear which was raging within her breast, it might be
supposed that her flitting spirit had already departed, and that h

A«*

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 377

rigid^ and seemingly unconscious form had been sculptured
from impassible stone. But the priest no sooner had the
cross placed in his faands^ than immediately recognising it, he
exclaimed :

" It is the same ! — It is the same ! The mercy and the jus-
tice of God are sure ! This is the cross ; and this," he said,
" this— my poor, long-suffering, and heart-broken daughter, is
your child! The event — the time — the place — the circum-
stances — the age — the likeness— the \?itne8S — all concur to pro-
duce evidence which is irresistible ! Embrace her, my daugh-
ter-:— my child, embrace your mother !"

But the Italian, instead of yielding to the outward burst of
natural affection which such a discovery so wonderful might
seem calculated to excite, still remained in her fixed and
motionless position, as if paralysed by the suddenness or the
excess of her emotion ! The priest and Lacey regarded her
with alarm, fearing that too much joy had struck fatally on
her firagile frame, and had destroyed her reason. But Fanny,
to whose heart nature as well as the solemn words of the vener-
able priest, carried conviction, exclaiming, with a loud cry,
"My mother !" threw herself into the Italian's arms.

That cry 1 — the voice of her diild ! wtile it unlocked the
flood-gates of ber straining eyes, unbound the fetters which
collapsed ' the limbs of the overwhelmed and enraptured
mother I Throwing up her arms to Heaven in gratitude, she
clasped her long-lost child to her bosom and found relief for
her overbursting heart in a wild and joyful burst of tears !

The scream of joy uttered by the fond mother, fidnt and
exhausted as she was, did not pass unheard by Lady Sarum
and Lord Manley. Alarmed at its ^rcing thrill, they hastily
descended team the carriage, and enteiing the garden of the
cottage, which was surrounded with shrubbery screening it
from the o})5ervation of casual passers-by, they beheld Fran-
cesca in the arms of the Italian lady ; the priest, weeping tears
of pious gratitude ; and Colonel Laoey, visibly aflfected, gazing
at the scene with affectionate interest.

At a glance. Lady Sarum understood it all ! Here was her
rival ! — Her living rival ! The object of her husband's search
through Italy ! The cause, perhaps, of his long affliction, and,
it might be, of his estrangement firom herself! She could not
see her rival's face, but she felt sick at heart ! A fitintness

2 E

378 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

came over her, and she would have sunk to the ground had not
Lord Manley promptly seized a garden-seat on which she
dropped, supporting herself by his arm. At her approach,
however, with Lord Manley, Francesca had raised up her
head : —

*^My mother,'' she said, **here is a lady to whom I am
bound by the deepest ties of gratitude for the benevolent pro-
tection which she extended to the friendless orphan."

At these words the Italian, who had remained with her eyes
closed, and wrapped in ecstatic prayer, removed her head from
the neck of her child, and turned towards the English lady to
whom Francesca had called her attention.

CHAPTER LVm.

THB SECRET REVEALED.

" I PRAY you. Lady," she said, " to draw near ; for whether it
is that my eyes are dim with tears, or that excessive joy benumbs
my senses, I know not : but something oppresses me, so that I
do not see clearly."

'^ It is the darkness of the evening which is drawing to a
close," said the priest, ^^ and the air is become sultry, and clouds
are rising above the mountains ; it seems that a storm is near."

" I pray you," repeated the Italian lady, to Lady Sanim, " to
draw near, that you may receive the thanks of a grateful mother,
for the kindness and protection which you have afforded to her
child."

. Lady Sarum hesitated for a moment ; but the priest taking
her by the hand, she yielded herself to his guidance, and he
placed her on her garden seat, which Lord Manley removed for
that purpose, opposite the bench where the invalid was sitting
with her hand clasped in that of her daughter.

*^ I thank you, with all my heart and soul," continued the
Italian, '* for your kindness to my child, whom for more than
sixteen years, I, her hapless mother, mourned as dead ! But
now the discovery of this child unseals my lips; the silence

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 379

vrtich I have so long preserved is no longer a duty to be fulfilled,
in deference to the ease and happiness of others. My own —
my living child demands my testimony, before that weakness
which I feel increasing, shall for ever deprive me of the power
of speech — to proclaim to the world the secret of her birth and
parentage."

"You will do well, my daughter," said the priest; "your
first duty is to your child ; and it imports much that you should
lose no time in declaring before these witnesses, who fortunately
are present, the truth which concerns your child."

** Listen, then," said the invalid, whose voice, though feeble,
was clear and most melodious; "and I pray you do not
interrupt me — for my thoughts seem likely to be confiised, and
I would wish to tell ray story before thought and memory
alike should fail me."

" Speak, my daughter," said the priest; *' these worthy and
noble personages will attest your words, and we will not inter*
rupt you by speech or motion."

" It is now nearly nineteen years ago," pursued the Italian
lady, " that I was wooed by an English lord, of singular elegance
and accomplishments. I was then living with my mother, a
widow, at Milan."

" His name," said Lady Sarum, much agitated.
" Do not interrupt her, good lady,'* said the priest
** Presently" — said the Italian. — " We were married.''
" Married I " exclaimed Lady Sarum.
*^ We were married.'*
The proofs — the proofs?" again, exclaimed the peeress.
The proofs are in the casket — but of that presently. — We
were married ; and the birth of a daughter seemed to cement
our union. But, for some reason, my husband . • . ."
" Your husband 1"

" .... My husband was disinclined to own his marriage to
his father. — Some time after, my husband left me to proceed to
England, for the purpose, as he said, of reconciling his father to
the match. I did not hear firom him, as I expected, and as he
promised, for many months ; when, one day, among the English
books which I had procured to read, there was sent to me an
English newspaper, in which, to my amazement, I read, that my
husband was about to be married to a young lady, the daughter
of an English peer. The information contained in this Paper

380 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

was 90 positive and precise, that, imwilling as I was to beUeve in
baseness so horrible, I could not help being convinced of the
truth."

Lady Sarum exhibited considerable emotion at this part of
the narrative ; but she said nothing.

The Italian lady continued : —

"Stung to the quick, at this incredible desertion of myself
and of my child, and thinking not less of my daughter's interests
* than of my own ties, I determined to proceed to England, and
prevent if possible, the double wrong that was about to be com-
mitted — on me his wife, and on the lady whom his second
marriage would deceive. I ought to have told you that, in the in-
terval, my poor mother died, and that the priest who had united
us, had departed from the city on a distant mission — so that I
was left alone without a relation, or a competent friend to advise
me. But trusting to the dictates of my own heart, which, I
thought, inspired me, with my child in my arms, I found my
way to Leghorn, and there embarking in a ship, I was carried
to the English river the Thames, and up to London. The
moment that the ship arrived opposite a large building, which
was the grand house of the Customs, I landed in a boat, and
with my child in my arms proceeded to the residence of my
husband."

"How did you discover it?" said the priest, "forgetting in
the interest which the story excited, his promise that the invalid
should not be interrupted.

" I inquired at a tavern near the great fortress of the Tower,
and I was informed promptly by a man who consulted a little
book. It was night, and the weather was stormy ; long ago
as it is, every circumstance is indelibly imprinted on my me-
mory. Before I went to the house — for I was abashed in a
strange country, and not knowing how I should be received by
my husband's relations — I went into another tavern, and asked
for a pen and some ink. They gave them to me, and I vnrote a
letter to him, and carried it myself to the door. A servant took
it from me, and told me to call again in a little time. I did so ; and
then the same servant said, that my husband was gone to the
family castle, a long way off. I believe they must have taken
me for a beggar, for the servant placed money in my hand,
and spoke kindly to me. I wandered about, and, at last came
to a large hotel where there were many travelling carriages. I

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 381

heard some one saj, that a carriage was even then about to
set off for the distant part of the country where my husband's,
castle was situate. I placed myself in that carriage, and was
rapidly borne away from the great city of London, towards the
north of England. Unhappily, the fatigues of my voyage, my
vexation and trouble of mind, added to my having set out on a
long journey in my wet clothes, afflicted me with severe illness.
At a cross-road near a village, the name of which I forget, I
got out of the coach, intending to perform the remainder of
my journey on foot. But here my illness increased ; I felt a
fever consuming me ; my head was light ; and I was so weak
that I could scarcely proceed. In this state I was met by a
peasant woman, who helped me to her cottage, which was a
little way from the road side. She put me to bed« My fever
increased. I thought I was dying. Desirous of procuring the
acknowledgment of my child, I entrusted this woman with my
little Francesca (here the invaUd embraced her daughter fondly,
and paused for a brief space to recover strength to proceed),
I entrusted this woman with my child, then not eighteen months
old, and also with a small gold casket, in which was the certi*
ficate of my marriage, and of the birth and baptism of my daugh-
ter; and I placed round my child's neck the gold cross which
she still wears."

Colonel Lacey redoubled his attention at these words ; Lord
Manley looked anxious ; and Lady Sarum seemed absorbed in
some deep thought. The priest said nothing.

The Italian lady pursued her narrative, but her voice grew
weaker and weaker : —

** What happened after that I do not well know. I believe I
must have been delirious. But the next day, when I came to
myself, I found a gentleman sitting by my bedside, whom I at
first supposed to be a physician ; but it was not so. He was
cold and stem. I was frightened at a something in his look,
which, to my mind, boded misfortune. My fears, as I was
made to believe, were well-founded. But seeing one, whom
I saw at once was of the higher class, I took advantage of the
opportunity, and entreated him to protect my child, telling him
at the same time, as well as my weakness, and the confusion
in my brain would allow, my story. But what took place at
this interview, is by no means clear to me. What I remember
most, is the dreadful intelligence of the death of my child !

382 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

The gentleman told me that it had been precipitated down a pit^
called the White Woman's Pit, and that both the woman and
the child had perished. I suppose the shock of this event
brought on the fever and delirium again, for the next thing
that I remember is, that I found myself in London. A nurse
was by my bedside. I spoke to her ; and she looked at me, and
left the room. Presently she returned to me, accompanied
by the same gentleman whom I had seen at the woman's
hut."

" Should you know him again ?" asked Colonel Lacey .

The Italian lady paused and meditated for a few moments : — -

*' I think I should," she said ; " for his features were remark-
able ; but let me finish my story, for my voice begins to fail
me. This gentleman spoke to me with much kindness, and
assured me that my husband had gone to Italy to seek for me.
I do not know how I suffered myself to be persuaded ; but my
child, as I learned from a newspaper which he showed to me
was, as I believed, dead. The gentleman gave me money, and
committed me to the care of a man in whom, he said, I might
place implicit confidence. Attended by this person I journeyed
by land to Italy. He wished me to remain in Germany until,
as he said, he could learn news of my husband ; but I was
determined to go to Italy, and he was obliged to consent ; he
told me that he had reason to believe that my husband
was at Florence: we travelled thither accordingly; and my
attendant "

** What was his name?" again asked Colonel Lacey.

" He went by the name of Mellor. This Mellor, instructed
by the same gentleman whom I have told you of, brought me
to this cottage, in which I have ever since resided, and I have
yearly received through him a sum of money for my main-

tenance."

** And have you made no attempt to become united again to
your husband ?" asked Colonel Lacey, with much surprise.

'* Stay," said the Italian ; " another sad part of my sorrows
is yet to be told. But now a sudden thought strikes me that I
have been purposely deceived. Let me finish my story, for I
am beginning to feel exhausted. Let lights be brought — my
sight fails me."

Lights were brought and placed on a rough table behind the
garden bench. The air was so still that their flames burnt

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 383

upwards mthout diverging ; and the close and sultry atmosphere
portended a fearful storm.

" Another sad part of my story remains to be told," continued
the Italian, ^^but it must be done. — I remained in this cottage
for many months, the man, Mellor, pretending to be busy in
seeking for my husband, and diverting me with false information.
— At last, I learnt from a French newspaper which I saw at the
house of my kind friend and religious father, the holy man now
present, that my husband had married the English lady, of
whom mention had been made in an English newspaper, before
I left Italy for England. Stunned by this blow, I uttered
sudden exclamations which revealed my secret to my religious
adviser. At first, he counselled me to proceed immediately to
England, and claim my rights. But the man, Mellor, anticipat-
ing my intention beguiled me with a tale which I still believe,
because to believe otherwise, would be to think too badly of
human nature. He told me that my husband, whom he affected
to consider only as my lover, supposed that I had perished with
my child in the White Woman's Pit, and that considering
himself free he had complied with the wishes of his father,
and had contracted an alliance with a noble house, which,
for family reasons, was especially desirable. — My narrative dis-
tresses your noble heart, dear lady," she said, addressing Lady
Sarum, who was sobbing audibly, "but my story will soon be done."

" What then," continued the Italian, " could I do ? — Claim
my husband, who, supposing me to be dead, had married again
to comply with the wishes of a beloved parent; and by so
doing expose him to the action x>{ the laws, and his innocent
wife to the scorn of the world? No: that was not my part. —
I was widowed in heart, and childless ; — my husband had shown
that he could forget me by wedding with another. Was it for
me to force back his heart and his affections? No; my pride
forbade it. — Was it for me to expose him to ruin and infamy? No";
my love forbade it : — for though his was extinct, mine was of a
nature to continue till my death. Lady, when an Italian loves,
she loves for ever 1 She can love but once, and that is for life —
and for eternity! She cannot hate him whom she has once
loved, and she cannot injure him. She may revenge; but my
love, lady, was too pure for revenge ! "

" Be calm, my daughter," said the priest ; " this excitement
is too much for you."

384 FANNT^ THE LITTLE MILLINER:

"What light i8 that?" said the Italian, looking up; *^some-
thing seems to flash across my eyes."

"It is lightning," said the priest; "we are on the eve,
it seems, of a terrible storm/'

" My story is done," continued the Italian ; " my griefs are
now told, and the secret of my life is revealed. I have resided in
this cottage ever since, feeding on my grief; resigning myself
to my destiny ; lamenting my child, and praying Heaven to pity
and pardon those, who from accident or ill-intention, have so
foully wronged me; but the hour of retribution is at hand! —
My father, what noise is that? is it the thunder? "

" No ; my daughter : it is a carriage driving rapidly towards
the cottage. It has stopped: some one has alighted; they
come ; it is an old man with a lordly air accompanied by your
physician."

As he spoke, the physician and Lord Grandborough stood
before her.

CHAPTER LIX.

lOT AND SO&&OW.

It is impossible to describe the astounded aspect of Lord
Grandborough, as he suddenly found himself amidst the group
which surrounded the Italian lady. — He stood few some time
aghast I — as if petrified with surprise and horror ! — Tlien, turn-
ing himself slowly round, he gazed from one to another like a
man violently awakened from a fearful dream, whose frightful
visions had become suddenly substantiated in appalling reality !
Presently he fixed his eyes on Francesca, and the Italian*
No one could have looked on those two, as they sat side by side,
their hands locked together, without being struck with the con-
viction that they were mother and daughter. Francesca sat in
a position of calm beatitude like a spirit blessed !. In her
mother's features the expression of overwhelming happiness

ORj THE RICH AND THE POOR. 385

was mingled with the signs of other struggling thoughts^ in
which hope and fear were wildly blended. — But this object was
the least of the fearful sights that struck anguish and terror into
the soul of the trembling old man I Here were his victims^r-
but there stood the witnesses of his ignominy ! — His name was
dishonoured ! his son disgraced ! his daughter-in-law brought
to public shame I her boy whom he had fondly hoped would
succeed to his cherished titles and estates^ illegitimized ! — Him-
self exposed — And there stood the witnesses to publish his
infamy to the world I Stunned by the blow ; — crushed with
the infinite weight of the calamity — the old man lost all strength^
and as if borne down by an irresistible power, he sunk on his
knees, and covering his face with his hands — uttered in piteous
accents : —

"All is lost!"

" The judgment of God is come !" said the priest. " But who
is this man," he asked, as the physician and Lord St. Austin
raised Lord Grandborough from his knees, ''who seems over-
whelmed with the consciousness of some enormous crime ? My
daughter, is he known to you ?"

The Italian had already been endeavouring to recollect where
she had seen this new personage in the scene, of whose counte-
nance, although changed in some degree by years, she had a
dim remembrance ; but at this moment the attention of all
present was distracted by a convulsive sob which proceeded
from some one at a distance, and who was not. visible in the
gloom which the flames of the tapers were not sufficient to
illuminate.

"What does he say?" asked the physician, who not under-
standing English, was not aware of the meaning of the words
spoken by Lord Grandborough, but who was astonished at his
attitude, and the fearful workings of his features.

Lord Manley translated them.

"I do not know," continued the physician, "to what those
words refer, but this noble gentleman is Lord Grandborough,
an English nobleman of high rank' "

"Hal" exclaimed the Italian; "Lord Grandborough!
That is he whom I met in the hut on the moor ; who told me
of the death of my child; who persuaded me to leave England
for Italy ; and at whose instance, I have lived in solitude for more

, 2 P

386 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

than sixteen long years, mourning for my perished daughter 1
I remember it now 1 AH is clear to me ! — But you, then, "she
added, as she clasped her hands, and regarded the old man with
a mixture of reproach and affection. — '* You are the father of
my husband I "

A deep groan from some one as in mortal anguish, but who
did not form part of the assembly, responded to this exclamation*

*'I call God to witness," said Lord Grandborough, 'Uhat
when I forwarded the marriage of my son with the Lady Eleanor,
I did not know of his previous marriage. It is true, that I did
my utmost to cause her whom I believed to be his mistress to
retire from England, and so to hide herself as to induce a belief
in her death, for my heart was fixed on another alliance for my
son. But it was not until the last marriage was effected, that I
had reason to believe that my son had contracted the first. —
Would to God that I had not turned that which I supposed to
be a begging petition from my door on that fatal night, and
then all this misery might have been avoided !"

"What is the meaning of this?" said Lord St. Austin, in
an agitated and rather angry voice ; •* who is this lady, who
speaks of Lord Grandborough as the father of her husband ? "

" This lady," said the priest, — " but stay.; — My child," he said
to Francesca, '* give to me that gold cross which just now you
showed to me. — Behold," he continued^ holding up the cross to
the view of the spectators, who listened to his words with the
varied emotions with which their different feelings and their
interests possessed them ; this cross is proved to have been
found at the edge of the pit when this child was rescued by one
named Lacey."

" I was present when it was found," said Colonel Lacey.

" Another witness !" said the priest. "And this is the cross
which was entnisted, with the child, to the woman who perished
in that pit when the child was saved."

"But who is that lady?" said Lady St. Austin, coming
forward from a cluster of shrubs, and pointing to the Italian,
with an impatient gesture ; " I am Lady St. Austin, reverend
father, and it is my daughter who is married to the son of the
Earl of Grandborough. — Who is this lady who claims also to be
Jiis wife ?"

"Noble lady, you shall be satisfied," said the priest ; '* and it

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 387

is fortunate that you and the noble Earl Grandborough, with
others perhaps, who may know the same, are present to testify
to the handwriting of the Viscount Sarum acknowledging his
marriage."

*' What handwriting ? And how dare you assert that Lord
Sarum has married my daughter contrary to honour and
to the laws?" said Lord St. Austin, vehemently agitated, and
regarding the priest with a look which, notwithstanding his
sacred character, was almost threatening.

** You shall see," said the priest, holding up the cross. —
« Behold I"—

Saying this, and requesting one of the company to hold a
taper, which was done by Colonel Lacey, the priest took a
pointed instrument, and applying a little force, he caused a thin
plate of gold which secretly covered one side of the cross to
slide back, and displayed a slip of vellum covered with a glass
of crystal, and on which was written in legible characters : —

FRANCESCA, VISCOUNTESS SARUM,

MARRIED TO VISCOUNT SARUM,

BY THE REVEREND FATHER LORETTI,

AT MILAN.

SARUM.

At the corner, in small characters, was the date of the marriage
in words at length.

" Where is that Father Loretti?" said Lady Austin, taking the
cross in her hands and examining the handwriting.

" It is I," said the priest; " it was I who married them ; and
it was I who procured this cross to be made ; and caused to be
enclosed within it this written acknowledgment of the English
lord's marriage with this injured lady.'^

A scream of anguish here interrupted the solemn stillness of
the night, so thrilling — so indicative of the broken heart from
which that sound was rent, that the horror-struck bystanders
started with fear, and it was some moments before Lord St.
Austin could recover presence of mind to raise his daughter
from the ground, on which she had fallen prostrate. The priest
assisted him to raise her, and they placed her on the bench by
the side of the Italian. Francesca rising up, and exhibiting
signs of the most lively grief at a sight so painfully distressing.

388 FANNY> THE LITTLE MILLINER:

" My child," said the Italian to her daughter, " who is this
ladj?"

" My benefactress, and my protectress," replied Francesca,
her eyes streaming with tears.

'^ And her name ? my child ; tell me her name that I may
duly honour it, and thank her for her care and kindness of you,
my daughter."

**0h, my mother! this kind and noble lady — seel she
recovers; life is returning to her. — Oh, good and dear lady!
Oh, dearest mother! What shall I say? What can I do? —
This lady, mother, is she who has protected by her care and
countenance your daughter when in her most humble state."

" Enough, my child; she is welcome and dear to your mother.
Dearest lady, let me embrace you. Your kind heart is affected
by this scene, but if the blessings of a mother can give you ease

or joy "

*' Oh, mother!" — cried out Francesca, as the Italian held the
stranger in her grateful embrace — "my benefactress is Lady
Sarum."

Feeble and faint as the Italian was every moment becoming
more and more, she seemed at this intimation, as if from an
electric shock, to recover momentary strength and energy!
With a sudden recoil from the unhappy Lady Sarum, she placed
her two hands on her shoulders, and gazed at the woman who
had usurped her place in her husband's affections for sixteen
years, with a look in which many passions were strangely blended:
there was jealousy of her love, that woman's feeling, the strongest
of her life — the first often to be awakened — the last that dies : —
there was compassion for her misery; sorrow for her fate; grati-
tude for her benevolence to her child ! In the generous heart
of the Italian, the last predominated; clasping again the passive
and resistless lady to her bosom, she wept over her as a sister,
and the two mingled their tears together. Francesca sinking on
her knees, held a hand of each, while the spectators of this
extraordinary scene, held their breath with wonder and amaze-
ment. The priest first broke silence : —

" God is just," he said ; " he has brought together, by means
miraculous, all those whose presence was necessary to punish
the wrong-doers, and to establish the right ; may God grant to
the wicked pardon, and to this afflicted lady who has been the

ORy THE RICH AND THE POOR. 389

innocent victim of bad deeds^ that peace of mind which the
world cannot give I"

"Father 1" said the Italian ; " I feel very feeble. — Something
tells me that I have not long to live. Too much joy has
hastened the death for which I was preparing. — I pray you
all to leave me alone with this lady."

The physician approached and felt her pulse. He spoke a
few words to the priest apart ; and then felt her pulse again, and
hesitated.

" I know what you mean, and what you would say," said the
Italian; '^but I pray all to go, and to leave me alone with this
dear lady."

" Mother," said Francesca, her eyes glistening with the
emotion which an heroic thought excited in her, "I have
something to pray of you."

" Remain, then, with us, my daughter."

All but these three retired.

" Lady," said the Italian, " I feel that my minutes are num-
bered, and my words can be but few. Are you satisfied of the
truth of that which the reverend minister of God has deposed
to, and which the hand writing of the cross testifies ? I entreat
you, answer me, for I grow more feeble."

What words can describe the whirlwind of agonizing sensa-
tions that possessed the unhappy Lady Sarum, at such a
question from such a person ! But humiliated — overwhelmed
— and broken hearted as she was, she had neither the courage
nor the strength, mental or physical, to combat a truth which
the attestation of Lord Sarum's formal handwriting placed
beyond all doubt. Bowing her head, she replied meekly : —

" I am satisfied."

" Can you be generous enough," said the Italian, " to restore
my daughter to her rights ? — I do not ask you for myself, for I
shall presently be removed, I feel, from all earthly cares and
affections! But I shall die happy, for I have seen my child
alive ! — But you, lady ; say, are you generous enough to promise
me that you will see my child acknowledged ? "

" Dearest mother," interposed Francesca, " do not speak so
mournfully of yourself? — I cannot believe — I will not believe —
that the parent whom I have only this moment found, is the
next moment to be lost to me for ever ! But, hear me, dearest

390 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER.*

mother^ and let me speak. To whom am I indebted for shelter
and protection in my misfortune? To this lady. — Through
whose agency have I been brought to Italy? By this dear lady.
— To whom do I owe the unspeakable happiness of embracing
a mother? It is to this most dear^ and most benevolent lady>
that I and you are indebted^ under God, for this great blessing.
— Shall she then suffer pain and worldly degradation by our
means? No: dearest mother ! From us only gratitude is due!
It is not by our hands that a blow should be struck to wound
her gentle heart 1 — what matters rank or fortune to us, dearest
mother ? Do not all these events prove of how little avail they
are to happiness? Let us live in retirement and solitude,
restored as we are to each other ; and let this dear lady preserve
the rank which she holds, which it would cost her so much pain
to lose, and which would give us so little pleasure to gain,
and so we shall feel that we have done something towards dis-
charging that debt of gratitude, which is due to her from you
and from me, for having protected me in my misfortune."

" Noble-hearted girl ! " exclaimed Lady Sarum, *' how can I
allow you to become the victim of such generosity ? No : it is
God's will ; to his decree I resign myself in all humility. But
— my boy — my Augustus ! Oh, my God !" she cried, raising
her hands to heaven, " give me strength to bear this blow :
— but it is too much — it is too much — my boy 1 my boy ! —
Oh ! not for me — oh, God 1 but for his sake, if it may be so, I
pray you to soften this terrible affliction 1"

The prayer of the afflicted woman was interrupted by a cry
from Francesca, who, alarmed at a sudden expression in the
countenance of her parent, hastily called for assistance.

The physician with the priest immediately made their ap-
pearance.

" It is as I feared," said the physician. " Young lady, you
must prepare yourself for a new trial. Your mother has been
long ill, and for this event she is prepared. It was impossible
for her to recover. Father, comfort this poor child, while I
endeavour to rally our sinking patient." He forced a cordial
down her throat, at which the Italian presently revived : —

** Come to me, my daughter."

Francesca held her mother's hands.

" Come nearer to me, that I may see you.''

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR.

391

" I am near to you, mother, I am close to you."
And that dear and excellent lady— where is she?"
Dearest iflother, she is holding you in her arms."
And — he — your father— my husband — where is he ?"
He is here," said Lord Sarum, emerging from the gloom. —
" Oh, Francescal I was innocent towards you — and towards— — ^

"Do you acknowledge your daughter?" said the dying
woman.

« I do— I do."
My child, does your father embrace you?"
He does, mother," replied Francesca, sobbing convulsively.

" I die content," said the Italian faintly,—*' my child, kiss

me."

" It is for God's minister now to do his office," said the priest,
coming forward. "Retire, my children, and leave me while
there is yet time to perform the sacred duties of our holy
religion,"

The brief parlance between the priest and the dying Italian
was soon over, and her daughter being again summoned, she
returned with her father and her benefactress. ConsciousnesB
had almost left the dying lady, but she opened her eyes once
more; and turning them first on Lord Sarum, and then settling
them on her daughter, with her regards so fixed she gradually
closed them, and expired in Lady Sarum 's arms.

" May God receive her spirit !" solemnly spoke the priest
"Amen," — said all. And Lady Sarum taking the hand of
Francesca, while the other was held by her father, led her away
to the cottage.

On their entrance, it was plain from the countenances of
Lord St. Austin and Lord Manley, that some new event had
occurred.

Lord St. Austin took Lord Sarum into another room ; and
communicated to him, in a few and cautious words, that his father
was dead !

Lord Sarum said nothing, but requesting to be lett alone, he
was found by Lady Sarum, who after the lapse of some time
went to seek him, in earnest prayer. Keeling down by his side,
they prayed for consolation together and in silence. Then,
returning to Francesca^ Lady Sarum wept over her, and said : —
" You are now my daughter."

392 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER:

But the cup of that sufiering lady's sorrows was not yet fuIL
It pleased God, in the inscrutable designs of His far-seeing
providence, and in the fulfilment of his retributive justice, to
remove firom the sorrows of the earth another victim.

CHAPTER LX.

THE CURSE FULFILLED.

Colonel Lacey who was filled with one absorbing idea — that
of establishing the rights of his adopted ward in the face of
the world — immediately after these events, taking counsel of
no one, travelled with the utmost speed back to England with
the design of recovering the casket mentioned by Francesca's
mother, and which contained a document which might be of
importance to the legal establishment of Francesca's rights as a
baroness of the kingdom, and the heiress to vast estates. He
conjectured that this casket must have been precipitated into
the pit with the woman who bore Francesca in her arms, and
who there lost her life on that memorable night sixteen
years ago.

He no sooner arrived at the nearest port where he could dis-
embark, than he set ofi^ to the neighbourhood of Grandborough
Castle, and proceeded to the cottage of Matthew the wood-
man. In the confidence of old acquaintance, and in the
exuberance of his joy at the high fortunes of the child whose
life he had saved, he narrated to his ancient firiend the disco-
very of Francesca's parents and of her own legitimate rank as a
peeress in her own right; and consulted with Matthew as to
the best mode of making a descent into the pit for the purpose
ofrecovering the casket.

**I wish that this should be kept a secret," he added, "firom
every one but yourself; I know that I can rely on your silence
and discretion ; but for the present, do not mention it even to
your wife."

OR^ THE RICH AND THE POOR. 393

^' Margaret is gone to the village/^ replied Matthew^ '^ so^ for
the matter of that^ the secret is safe enough so far. Bat I wish
you had told me that you wished it to be a secret at first, for
there is one lying in the inner room there who has sharp ears.*'

" Who is it ?" asked Lacey .

^^ You knew him years ago," said Matthew, speaking low.
" He is the brother of the mad Rebecca. — Black Will they
called him. He is bad firom some wounds which he received
from Lord Grandborough's gamekeepers ; he is not expected to
live ; but I could not refuse to give him shelter, although it is
said that he killed one of the keepers who tried to take him.
However, I don't know the truth of it."

"That 's unlucky," said Lacey, "but perhaps it will be
better to caution him not to speak of what he has heard — if he
has heard anything."

He stepped into the back room to act on this purpose, but
Black Will was gone. — An open window showed the mode of
his exit.

" I didn't think he was so strong," said Matthew.

" What will he do V said Lacey.

" There 's no knowing what the like of him may do," replied
Matthew. " He was always a desperate man, and this last
damage which he has got from Lord Grandborough's game-
keepers, has made him more savage than ever against the
family."

Six days after this conversation, a sick man in a cottage
about two miles Scorn Eton College, sent an urgent message to
the young Augustus, saying, that he had a message fi'om
Grandborough Castle relating to a matter of great interest to
him. The messenger who brought the communication, said
that it came firom a man who had stopped at their place only an
hour before, and that he had with him two sporting dogs of a
fine breed. Tempted by the report of the dogs, Augustus re*
paired to the spot as soon as he possibly could, supposing that
some fiiend had planned an agreeable surprise for him.

What took place at that interview was never known ; but it
was conjectured by Colonel Lacey, that Black Will had con-
trived to convey himself so fiir on his way to the college, when
he was compelled to stop firom illness and exhaustion; and that^

2 G

394 FANNY, THE LITTLE MILLINER*.

prompted by revenge and his deadly hatred to the Grand-
borough family^ he had maliciously made known to the young
Augustus all that he had heard from Colonel Lacey at the
woodman's cottage^ which he no doubt embellished and aggra-
vated so as to produce the most powerful effect on the mind
of the Son of Lord Sarum. — But this could never positively be
known^ as the ruffian died that night of his wounds^ and the
scene that took place between them could be surmised only
from the event which followed.

It was three days after this that Lacey and Matthew were
sitting in the woodman's cottage on the moor, discoursing on
preparations which were in progress for effecting a descent into
the pit for the purpose of recovering the casket.

It was evening, and the weather was gloomy and dark.

Margaret was there too. The conversation turned, as was
natural, on the scenes of old times in which they had been
mutually engaged. They talked of The White Woman's Pit,
and of the legend which was attached to it.

" It was always said," Matthew observed, " that the White
Woman's Pit was fatal to the Grandborough family ; but now
that the young baroness has run her last risk, I suppose The
White WomanJs curse is fulfilled ?"

" Not yet," said Margaret, who, with the superstition common
to her condition and her decaying faculties, was prone to
indulge in stories of supernatural appearances, " the curse is
not accomplished yet ; it was to descend to three generations,
so the saying goes ; and this poor young girl may suffer for her
ancestor's crime yet."

" God forbid !" said Lacey, *' that any new misfortune should
befall that poor girl; she has already suffered enough^ one
would think, to expiate all the sins that her ancestors ever
committed. But I must go back to my inn and hasten these
preparations for a search in the Pit. What sort of a night is

it ? There is some one galloping straight to this

cottage, on the other side of the Pit; There 1 he is coming on
at a fearful rate I Matthew, can you see ? Look I He must
be close to the edge of the Pit ! He is at its brink ! See ! the
horse snorts and rears I I see his legs raised up I He struj^les
to turn back I He springs up 1 My God ! Matthew ! — he is

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 395

gone ! He has disappeared ! Oh, horror 1 What is the
meaning of this dreadful tragedy ?"

Lacey rushed to the spot, but he could see nothing, and he
could hear nothing. All was silent as the grave ! He peeped
into the depths of the Pit ; but there all was dark and still. He
looked around him, and saw on the scanty grass a small pocket-
book. He opened it. The first paper he saw was a letter
addressed to her son from Lady Sarum ! Other papers con-
firmed too clearly that it was indeed the unfortunate son of
Lord Sarum who had met with his death in a manner that to
men's minds seemed too frightful to contemplate.

It was afterwards ascertained that the poor boy, after the
communication of Black Will, had not ventured to the college,
but had immediately set off for Grandborough Castle. He was
almost mad with excitement, and worn out with fatigue. He
asked for wine, which was brought, and of which he drank
plentifully. Then he desired a horse to be saddled instantly,
and, in a state of fury which bordered on delirium, rode off to
the cottage of Matthew, the woodman, where he learned that
Colonel Lacey was likely to be found. The groom who followed
him said that he rode like a maniac, in a straight line to the
cottage, stopping at nothing, — his gallant horse clearing all
obstacles ; and that to overtake him, although the groom owned
that he struck the rowels of his own spurs into his horse's sides
till the animal was exasperated to madness, was impossible !
Tidings of the lamentable event were immediately despatched
to Lord Sarum, by Colonel Lacey, who had now an additional
motive for expediting the preparations for a descent into the
Pit.

This was performed the next day, and the body of the un-
fortunate youth was found — quite dead, but scarcely mutilated,
although the carcass of the horse was dashed to pieces* It
struck Colonel Lacey as remarkable, that one hand of the poor
boy was found by the old miner, as he described it, resting on a
gold casket, which the miner gave into the hands of Colonel
Lacey. It was the casket pf the Italian, containing all the legal
documents necessary for the perfect proof of her marriage with
Lord Sarum*

^ TT W Ip ^ •Jp •Jp 1p '(p S^E

Lord and Lady Sarum never returned to England, notwith-

396 FANNY^ THE LITTLE MILLINER:

standing Francesca's determination^ which she religiously kept,
not to let the world know the secret of her birth, and the inno-
cent illegality of Lady Sarum's marriage.

They removed to a remote part of Italy, where Francesca
resided with them as their daughter, endeavouring to solace
them in their grief, and administering all the consolation which
her delicate feelings and her generous heart knew so well how
to afford to them. At the end of that time she gave her hand
to Lord Manley ; and at the death of her father, and of her
whom she ever called her bene&ctress, which took place nearly
together, and about two years after the death of their son
Augustus, she returned with her husband to England.

It was not till then that she learned the marriage of her old
friend Julia, who had been prevailed upon by the honourable
Mr. Snob to place her pretty person and pretty fortune at his
disposal.

^^ I don't think I ever should have been able to make up
my mind," said Julia, in a confidential conversation with the
Countess Manley, **to be called Mrs. Snob, though there
was an honourable before it — only think ! Snob ! such a horrid
name ! if it hadn't been for his father's illness, because when
the old gentleman dies, of course I shall be Lady Hookem ;
and that name has a decided aristocratic air about it: don't
you think so my dear ! La ! what a beautiful chain that is !
Italian, of course; they do make such sweet pretty things
abroad, don't they? My Max bought such a love of a neck-
lace before ^e were married, but he has not seen anything
worth buying for me, he says, since. — And now tell me, my
dear, don't you think after all it is better to be a Countess
than a little milliner? You have no band-box to carry now,
eh 1 — that 's some comfort!"

^^ I am glad, Julia," replied Francesca, ''that, amidst all your
own troubles, you have preserved your spirits — which have
stood you in such good stead in difficult times. But I must
say, from what my own experience has taught me, that there is
not so much difference in the happiness and the enjoyments of
the upper and the lower classes as the vulgar suppose. It seems
to me that in this, as in other dispensations of Providence,
there is a compensatory principle in action. The rich are not,
in fact, happier than the poor ; they only appear so. The rich

OR, THE RICH AND THE POOR. 397

have the cares, the anxieties, and the mortifications which ap-
pertain to their state, as the poor have the privations and suffer-
ings which belong to their own. I have learned that our portion
of the sorrows, which are the lot of man, though different in
form, is, in amount, the same."

" Why, Fanny," said Julia, flirting her lace-embroidered
handkerchief with an aristocratic air, and applying it delicately
to her lips, pinched up artistically in the middle, so as to dis-
play its richness and taste to the greatest advantage, ^^ You are
a little philosopher."

« If philosophy is to be derived from much suffering, dear
Julia," replied Francesca, ** why, then, I am. And at least I
have learned this; — ^I have learned how often the poor mistake and
misjudge the actions of the rich, and how often the rich over-
look and neglect the sufferings of the poor; I have learned, too,
how much good may be done with very little money ; and how
much more the poor prize kind words than ostentatious gifts.
And more than this — and do not think that I philosophise too
much, dear Julia, for it is a religious opinion with me — I think
that it is my duty to employ the riches and the influence with
which God has been pleased to invest me for the benefit of all who
are in want of my sympathy or assistance. My own experience has
taught me, that if the rich were to employ the means in their
power with the charity and diligence which this sacred book,**
laying her hand on a Bible which was near, ** enjoins, there
would not be the ill-will and the dangerous division which of
late years has so much increased between the Rich and the
Poor."

THE END.

London :

Printed by Stewart and Murray,

Old Bailey.